


The Life and Crimes of Jurei Akira

by KassiopeiaX



Series: Jun Aoki [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse, Action, An Offer You Can't Refuse, At least one person gets cooked, BDSM, But not the corny kind, Comedy, Complete, Crime, Crossdressing, Domestic Violence, Drama, Dystopia, Erotica, Everyone Is In Denial, Exhibitionism, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gang Violence, Italian Mafia, Kink, LGBTQ Themes, Love Triangles, M/M, Major Japan fetish, Mind Games, Notice Me Senpai!, Regressively progressive, Romance, Science Fiction, Smut, Torture, Totally doomed relationships, Toys, Trans, Voyeurism, Yakuza, diversity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 10:53:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 82,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14079315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KassiopeiaX/pseuds/KassiopeiaX
Summary: (COMPLETE) In this dystopian city ruled by sex, drugs and violence, women are a traded commodity and the yakuza and mafia families reign supreme. At least until the two syndicates become embroiled in a bloody gang war which threatens to destroy both sides. Jurei Akira, a yakuza heir and self-proclaimed genius, is caught in the middle. He is desperate to prove himself to the family and finally earn his tattoos, but that won't be easy considering they disapprove of his secret lust for men. It certainly doesn't help that his biggest secret of all is the unfairly sexy heir to the mafia! But with a beautiful brain like his, he is certain he can win the war without being forced to choose between his head and his heart. Statistically speaking, of course.(PRIMARILY M/M with occasional M/F and F/F. Underage with teens. Plot-driven smut, please read the tags for triggers!)





	1. The Family Honor

I shouldn't be in bed with Massimo D'Oro. But there was no fighting back when he dragged me through the hotel corridors and threw me on silk sheets, tearing his crisp white shirt open in the same instant. How could I run when he arrested me with those intense golden eyes that are always saying, 'on your knees' if not 'on your back'? Resisting the touch of his rugged hands - too rugged for a trust fund baby like him, but  _ oh so right  _ for putting on my trembling body - was impossible. I could not spoil a chance to sink my hands in his rich, chocolate-colored hair. So how does one tell the most handsome mafia boss in the world  _ no _ , anyway? I'm open to suggestions.

Everything Massimo touches turns to gold, from the golden revolver hanging at his belt to the heady mood lighting and the golden rings in his spider bite lip piercing. He runs his tongue over them in anticipation of the coming feast.

"Jurei..." I shudder when he says my name. Even his handcuffs are gold. I lift my arms eagerly, allowing him to cuff me to the bed frame. " _ Fuck _ ," he swears, running his hands down my sides as he lowers his face to immaculate cream skin. He draws a line of kisses from my navel to chest, gentle until he latches his teeth down on my neck and makes me scream: the kind of noise he loves to hear. 

Massimo growls, "I should really kill you, you know." His revolver is out of its holster; I let my eyes follow the frigid path he traces over my skin with the muzzle, just amused. 

"That sounds like a lot of work when you could simply tell my father about us and let him do it for you," I tease. 

"Or my father." He grins a toothy white grin. 

"Your father is just a big teddy bear." I pucker my lips at him and make a kissing sound. 

"Yeah, well my dad could beat up your dad!" We both laugh and then I gasp aloud when he plunges the business end of his revolver into my entrance. 

The sight of his finger still on the trigger makes me bite down on my lip. I cast a glance at him disapprovingly. 

"Scared?" He laughs again. "The son of the yakuza boss should really be made of tougher stuff." 

"But you like my stuff." I arch my back to remind him how lucky he is. 

"That is true." He lets his eyes wander over my pale chest, pausing to twist a rosy nipple. He ignores my straining cock, reaching around instead to cup my ass. 

Massimo concedes, tossing his revolver without a care for where it lands - which it does soundlessly on the carpet. He replaces it with his cock, it's much thicker anyway. 

" _ Max! _ " I cry out in ecstasy.  

He moans, holding me against his body to thrust deeper. Massimo's incredible tool stretches me, but not uncomfortably. My tight ring greets it like a dear old friend, familiar but still so full of sensation. I throw my head back, letting my long violet hair carpet the bedspread. He always did like my hair. Of course he does.

"I'm close!" I gasp. He opens his mouth to answer but I hear the sound of a phone ringing instead. "Rude." I narrow my eyes at him. Massimo curses, ripping up the bed in a search and destroy mission. When he finds the offending phone, there's a satisfied smirk on his face. 

"It's yours." 

"Oh..." He reads the caller id. 

"Big brother  _ Keiichi-san _ ," He makes fun of our customs that he finds so silly. "He must be so worried about you. I'll just tell him you're with me." Usually, his antics are at least mildly amusing but, feeling left out in the cold when he withdrew, I snap,

"Put the damn thing down and get back on top of me!"

"Is that you talking back to me?" He raises an eyebrow. "You get so cranky when there isn't a dick in you. Fine." He shrugs and  _ finally  _ we can get back to- "You tell him then." He swipes on my phone and tosses it on the mattress by my head. 

_ "Jurei?"  _  I freeze when I hear my older brother's voice through the phone.

"Nii-san?" I say helplessly. Massimo doesn't give me an inch of slack when he thrusts into me again; I have to fight to keep from moaning aloud.

_"Where the hell were you today?! We almost lost an entire shipment of aether!"_ _The shipment._ Stupid, stupid, I completely forgot, and it's all because of this distracting man... this golden, virile _beast_ of a man... On top of me. 

"Gomen nasai, Nii-san." I sigh miserably. 

_ "Forget it... Michio took care of it. He killed his first man today."  _

"What?" My voice sharpens. " _ Michio? _ " I flex my hands and slip the cuffs easily, sitting up as I hold the phone to my ear. Massimo has to back up and allow me into his lap instead. I bounce angrily, taking it out on his cock. He worships my body with touches and kisses - because I deserve it - but I can barely feel it. 

_ "He's getting a tattoo tonight. Don't miss the irezumi ceremony."  _ I can't hold my tongue anymore. 

"For killing  _ one _ guy?!" I erupt. Massimo growls in annoyance, completely forgotten. 

_ "It's more than you've ever done," _ Keiichi says bitingly. 

"Then why don't  _ you  _ try managing 50 different shell companies in 5 different republics!" I cry indignantly. 

_"There's no honor in simply moving money around."_ Just then, Massimo delivers a spiteful thrust right to my prostate, flooding the mental dam I built against his ministrations.

" _ Keiichi! _ " I gasp out my brother's name in a passionate tone reserved for my lover as I reach climax, streaking Massimo's chest white. We both freeze. Awkward silence on the other end, and I'm horribly aware of a single drop of ejaculate trickling from my seal.

_ "Where are you?"  _ Keiichi asks coldly. 

"I have to go." I hang up quickly. 

"Hey!" Massimo retreats from my tiny, stinging slaps against his chest and arms.

"Asshole!" I curse at him. 

"I'm the asshole? You're the one who lost your mind over some stupid tattoo."

"It is  _ not-! _ " I pause to sigh and collect myself, then collect my clothes. "Just a tattoo... Irezumi is a yakuza tradition. The tattoos symbolize the honor we bring to the family and our place in its future." I stand in front of the dressing mirror. It reflects my pale, unmarked skin back at me like a slap in the face. Blank: the empty pages of an unwritten story. In the corner of the mirror, I see Massimo lying naked on the bed, languidly scratching his chest. 

"I know a guy: let's just get you a damn tattoo. Fifty dollars, fifty minutes: boom. No more cranky Jurei." 

"You can't  _ buy  _ irezumi, you earn it." 

My lover groans out loud, "You yakuza are crazy." 

"No crazier than mafia." I turn around with my hands balanced on my hips.

"Hey, all we care about is  _ cosa nostra. _ " He hangs his torso backward from the edge of the bed, crossing his arms over that adonis chest in an X. "Famiglia is the only thing that matters. No crazy tattoos." Massimo is sweet and a lot of fun. But he's ignorant. He only sees what is directly in front of him, and never questions the rest. He has no patience for details. He rolls out of bed, landing like a panther and unfurling like a bear. Massimo jaunts this way with a roguish grin on his face. 

I can't help but smile as he puts his hands on me, feeling me up in front of the mirror.

"Besides, you already look perfect. What do you need a tattoo for?" I watch our reflection hungrily as he slides both his hands over my generous hips; too generous for a man, actually. Apparently, I take after my mother in that department... 

"True..." I tilt my head back, letting him take my lips in a kiss. His tongue explores my mouth as he drags his fingers through silky hair without a single hitch. Just then, a knock on the door interrupts us, and not a polite one. I break off abruptly, dressed in half an instant. "Get your pants on, Max," I say sharply to my dawdling partner.

Throwing the door open, I point my Glock, ready to shoot. When I see the face on the other end of my gun, I sigh, lowering it again. Just a cop. 

"Officer Black, you scared me." Damon Black ingratiates himself into the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed over his black police jacket. His silver CPD - Clear Police Department - badge gleams on his chest.

"Jureiii..." He looks me up and down. "You look clothed. Why?" He plants a teasing kiss on my unsmiling lips, even though he knows he's not allowed to do that.   
"I'm with Massimo right now," I say dryly. 

"It's that bad, huh?" 

I just narrow my eyes at him. He also knows he's second place and compensates with terrible humor. I allow myself a tour of his angular face and black hair coaxed into a sexy quiff. A  _ pleasant  _ second place certainly, but still...  

"Oh, hey Massimo." Damon glances over my shoulder at my idiot lover hopping on one foot as he tries to feed the other into a pant leg. How is it that he can have them off in a moment but putting them back on is such a monumental task? 

"Hey, Damon." He briefly raises a hand, but that offsets his balance and sends him tumbling to all fours. 

"What do you want?" I preserve what's left of Massimo's dignity by stepping in the way, blocking Damon's view into the room. 

"We have a little logistical problem, Jurei. Your guys fucked up. You didn't collect your shipment within the delivery window and the police shift rotated. Long story short, one of your guys killed one of my pop's guys and he's pretty damn pissed off about it."  

"Right..." I mutter. Stupid Michio. 

"I want double my cut."

"What? That's outrageous! Your cut is  _ more  _ than generous..." 

"Double it or your next shipment doesn't make it to shore. It's getting harder covering your asses when you act completely fucking incompetent."

"Fine! Fine..."  I write him a check. That's a lot of zeroes... 

"Thank you kindly." I've scarcely finished my signature when he plucks it from my grip and stuffs it into his pocket. I can usually tell when Damon's wild child lifestyle is outgrowing his means: because he's usually on my doorstep chipping away for more.   

"You giving my babe a hard time, Officer?" I feel Massimo's huge (and fortunately clothed) presence behind me. A great paw lands possessively on my shoulder. 

"I think you're the one who gave him a  _ hard _ time." Damon cocks an eyebrow. The tension breaks as Massimo bursts out laughing. 

"Eh, you're alright, Black. Must have been mafioso in a past life." 

"Yeah, maybe." Damon grins. He's only joking, but that's impossible. Damon doesn't care about  _ famiglia _ , or some foolish notion of cosa nostra. The corrupt cop pays no heed or allegiance to anyone, even his own father. A  _ dog _ with no master and no honor is not to be trusted

 

###

 

The Pagoda is the most gorgeous place in the city. Not that that's saying much... The sprawling gardens are dotted with cherry blossom trees just beginning to bud. Pink lotuses float serenely in the ponds as speckled koi laze in the shade of lily pads. In the center towers a magnificent, mahogany pagoda with five tiers. Dramatic black eaves slice the sky into sections. 

As beautiful as it is terrifying, thanks to the people who dwell within it. The Akira family.  _ My _ family. The grounds are protected by a ten-foot-tall compound wall patrolled by the biggest and toughest yakuza wearing uniform suits and earpieces. I look even less impressive in their presence.   

"Jurei-san." The guard at the door opens it for me. I am, however, the son of the boss, our okashira, so at least I have that going for me. 

Now if I could just get to my room without Keiichi finding me... No such luck as I find my older brother standing directly in front of the door with his muscular arms folded. His dark blue hair is buzzed close to his scalp and the edges of his elaborate tattoos peek from under his sleeves and the collar of his yukata. 

"Nii-san!" My voice comes out unusually high and I have to clear my throat to reset it. "I'm back..." 

"I can see that."

"I'll get dressed for the ceremony."

Keiichi snaps like a trap around my wrist, squeezing until it hurts. 

"Ow, ow, ow!" I gasp.  

"You were with Massimo again, weren't you?"

"No!" 

" _ Liar! _ " he roars, twisting my arm behind my back. I struggle, more in an effort to elicit sympathy than free myself. I know, as well as so many who did not live to tell the tale, that it is impossible to escape Keiichi. My brother is much bigger and stronger than me: his grip is like steel. "Tell me the truth!" he snarls. Pain shoots through my arm. 

"Okay, I was with him! I was with him!" Finally, he releases me with a shove that sends me sprawling to the wood floor. 

"Brainless slut!" Keiichi brands me with the words. "He's  _ mafia _ and we're  _ yakuza _ . I can't believe I actually have to tell you that."

"We're not hurting anyone..." I mutter.

"A chain is only as strong as its weakest link. When you are weak,  _ all of us are weak! _ You endanger us all with your actions. Father will find out about this." The threat turns more serious than a little arm-twisting. I affect the most pity-inducing expression in my arsenal, widening my eyes and putting a tremble to my lower lip. 

"P-Please don't tell father. He'll kill me, do you want me to  _ die? _ "  

Keiichi's face doesn't budge. I try the waterworks next, brimming over with tears. "Nii-san, you wouldn't do that to your precious otouto, would you? Your sweet little Jurei?" 

Keiichi rolls his eyes slightly. "If those crocodile tears are your only talent, then take up acting instead. But stop dishonoring the family and then wondering why you're still kuuhaku."  _ Kuuhaku _ . Blank. I readjust my shirt to cover more of my embarrassingly pale skin.

"Hey, hey, what's going on?" My other older brother joins us in the hallway. His shock of green hair regulated only somewhat successfully in a wild ponytail. The second born, he's taller than Keiichi but more slender, with lean muscles. Kind brown eyes land on me sympathetically. 

"Ne! Why are you crying?" I allow him to draw me into a comforting embrace. His cotton yukata smells like plum blossoms. "What did you say to him?" He shoots an accusation at Keiichi. 

"He's distracting you, Yosuke." 

"This is our otouto you're talking about." Yosuke holds me protectively and pats my head. I open one eye to look smugly at Keiichi. "Come on, today is a good day!" Yosuke makes an attempt at cheering both of us up. "Little brother Michio is getting his first irezumi!" Not that it works. 

Members of the family are gathered in the ceremony room, a chamber that breathes tradition and wears it too in the luxurious silk tapestries that line the walls, depicting oni and samurai doing battle in a heavenly cloudscape. I brighten up when I see my grandfather at the head of table. His hair is in an advanced stage of greying and his full body tattoos are started to fade and shrivel. He maintains a mature but distinguished appearance befitting a retired yakuza boss. He insists on getting out of his wheelchair to kneel at the low table with everyone else. 

"Jiji! Let me help you!" I volunteer, carefully drawing the elderly man's arm around my shoulder and lowering him to his cushion. He lets out a sigh of relief as he folds into position. 

"Sumimasen, Jun-Jun," he says affectionately. A Kit-Kat materializes magically from his sleeve. I accept it with a soft chuckle. 

"You don't have to keep giving me candy, Jiji... I'm not a child anymore." 

"Children can take the greatest of pleasures from the smallest of things. Perhaps we could all be a little more like them." He winks at me. 

Just as I finish getting Grandfather comfortable, the screen door slides aside to let in a line of women in pastel kimonos. Each holds a folding fan over the lower half of their faces. Father's wives, which means he can't be far behind. The woman with violet hair lifts her gaze to meet mine. Her eyes crinkle in a smile behind her fan. I smile back at my mother briefly before hurrying back to my side of the table. 

Everyone save for my grandfather stands when my father walks in. Raijin Akira, the dreaded yakuza boss who runs North Clear. His decorative haori is open at the chest, revealing brilliant oni tattoos that mark his fierceness in battle and legendary spirit. 

"Okashira!" we say in unison. He sits down at the head of the table beside my grandfather, taking a deep breath. His dark eyes open at last. 

"Be seated. Today we celebrate one of our own, Michio Akira, as he becomes a man. For his incredible bravery, and unwavering resolve. Michio, you have brought honor to our family."  

Michio, who is kneeling at the opposite end of the table, inclines his head respectfully.

"Arigatou gozaimasu, Okashira." It is an effort not to burst out laughing. Michio is practically a child - no - he _is_ a child. A teenager who likely doesn't even know what he did to earn his irezumi. _'Arigatou gozaimasu'_ \- ha! - as if he isn't a spoiled brat who has been unsubtly pilfering money from the vault to go get high with hookers. A dark feeling grips my chest. It should be me sitting there. It should be _me_ getting my tattoos. I take another shot to calm myself, but it only seems to fuel the fire.   

Michio is charged with nervous energy as the irezumi master and his apprentice set up behind him. Master Hiroshi sits calmly as his apprentice mixes dyes in shallow dishes at a feverish pace and lays the irezumi brushes neatly on a silk towel. Finally, the apprentice eases off Michio's yukata to reveal youthful, porcelain skin: a blank canvas. 

The apprentice kneels and bows his head, holding out a bamboo tattoo brush with a head of small steel barbs. Master Hiroshi takes it languidly, dips the brush in ink and begins the ceremony. His technique is flawless. He moves the needle brush with quick, short jabs, guiding it with the thumb of his other hand on Michio's back. As he works, his apprentice lights sweet-smelling incense: a small comfort for Michio. The traditional method is long and painful, and some would say unnecessary now that tattoo machines exist, but it is tradition. I expect Michio to cry out in pain. But he doesn't. Of course he doesn't. He sets his jaw firmly. 

Bearing the process without making a sound or expression is a sign of discipline, which the family searches for in Michio's face. His eyes are closed serenely as the minutes stretch on. 

"So strong..." Impressed whispering. Begrudgingly, even I have to admit the kid is doing well. To add insult to injury, he's completing the ceremony flawlessly. I take another burning shot. Even his  _ breathing  _ is level! And then he lets out the unmistakable sound of a snore. Stunned silence in which we slowly realize,

"He's asleep," I say bluntly. 

The ceremony room erupts into laughter raucous enough to wake Michio with a snort. The mood turns lively as yakuza wives bring around drinks while we wait for the painstaking tattooing process to finish. The older, higher ranking yakuza sit with their yukata wide open to reveal their full body tattoos. Each one is completely unique but they all breathe yakuza glory. Master Hiroshi worked on them all, from my father's oni tattoos, to my grandfather's now-withering twisted dragons - the first tattoo he apprenticed on when he was younger. My older brothers already have their full body irezumi. Keiichi's, a bamboo scene filled with tigers, while Yosuke opted for a softer, more flirtatious design of geishas and plum blossoms.

"Cherise, hey!" Speaking of flirting, Yosuke flags down my wife.  _ Oh no...  _ I groan under my breath and try to hide behind a hand. 

"Yosuke!" She kneels, her tray balanced perfectly on her fingertips as she pours his sake. Her traditional kimono really doesn't suit her blue eyes and generally European features, and her blonde hair looks strange done in a geisha updo. 

"You look amazing." My brother is too nice to say so and nice enough to believe it too.

"Aww, thank you!" Cherise swats his shoulder playfully, then turns to pour my drink. She leans in close to my ear and whispers, "I hate you so much." In the blackest tone that her valley girl accent can muster.

"Love you too, honey..." I mutter, downing a shot. She immediately refills it. 

"Do me a favor and drink yourself to death." 

"Give me a break." I hold up the Kit-Kat. 

"Fuck you." Completely done with me at this point, she rises to go; our exchange went unnoticed. 

Once Master Hiroshi has finished the outline and base colors, he leaves the rest to his young apprentice and joins my father and uncles to drink. I've had a few myself, watching the apprentice broodingly as he works. 

Sora Toriko... He's been apprenticing for a few years, but the only reason I care to know his name is that cute face. He has fluffy blue hair like a cloud perched on top of his head and the yukata he wears is a simple straw yellow with daisies printed on it. The smaller man jumps when I speak suddenly from behind him. 

"Nice work." 

"Jurei-san!" he says bashfully, surprised to be noticed and addressed, let alone by the third-born son of the Okashira. "Thank you, but sensei did all the hard work. I am simply layering dye." It's true, he's doing a glorified paint-by-numbers job. Sora's form is not as refined as Yoshi's: he jabs too softly, as if afraid to hurt Michio. Give  _ me _ three minutes with that brush... I don't even know what I hope to achieve by chatting up the apprentice while I glare at the tattoo taking shape on Michio's back: a cluster of sakura blossoms. I take a swig straight from the bottle.

"Hey... You should take a break," I interrupt Sora again. 

"Umm..." Sora looks at me longingly, then at his work. I already know what he's going to say before he says it in an already-guilty tone: "A short break couldn't hurt." 

Cold air hits us head-on as we stroll through the gardens. Sora shivers in his thin yukata, rubbing his shoulders. It's little wonder; he's all skin and bones. I slip off my robe and place it around his shoulders, watching his already-large eyes widen and his cheeks go red. I slip on a new robe in the form of another gulp of stiff alcohol, layering a warm, fuzzy defense against the cold. 

"You looked cold," I answer a question that he couldn't quite manage to stammer out. Sora squeezes the robe around his thin frame as if using it as a proxy for me, then looks up gratefully at the sky. 

"It's a beautiful night." Small talk: is he really foolish enough to believe that's why someone like me would be talking to someone like him?

"It is," I reply anyway. Sora lowers his face in an attempt to conceal a smile.

"I'm... I'm really glad I get to share it with you." 

"Likewise." I think I'm drunk enough. The blue-haired apprentice makes a surprised noise as I suddenly seize his face in both hands and push a kiss into it. 

"J-Jurei-san?" he gasps against my lips as we come apart. 

"Take off your clothes," I say abruptly.

"But-"

"Do it  _ now. _ " It's not a request when it comes from the okashira's son; it's an  _ order _ . 

"O-Okay... Okay..." I don't know why I bothered giving him my robe when I was just going to watch him take it off anyway. It comes apart and drops into the grass, followed by the thinner yukata underneath it, revealing cream skin. Sora wraps his skinny arms around a petite body, shivering. The breeze makes his blue hair flutter.

"All of it." He steps out of his plain white underwear too. I smirk a little at his tiny cock. How cute. "We're going to have sex," I tell him, relishing in the way it makes his eyes widen. 

"Th-This is all moving so quickly." 

I roll my eyes and mutter, "Not quickly enough apparently... Turn around." 

When he does, I shove him down on all fours and clumsily get on top. My yukata is suddenly the most complex garment in the world as I fumble with the sash. Finally, I get it open, releasing my hard manhood.  _ Much better... _ I take Sora's ass in both hands, steadying him as I saw between his pert cheeks. 

Sora doesn't scream when I take him, although he easily could have. He may have even alerted someone to his predicament, but he doesn't even try, like the obedient little apprentice he is. They say when the okashira's son is fucking you in the ass, you take it quietly for the family. That is something they say, right? Intoxicating power mingles with the alcohol buzz in my head. At least,  _ at least _ , I have power over  _ him _ .

I hold Sora at the hips as I rail his protesting pucker with little regard for his comfort, thrilling at his tightness on my cock. His entire skeletal frame shakes with every thrust. Soft whimpers come to me through the haze and I make the connection. He's crying as softly as humanly possible so as not to interrupt me. This isn't exactly the fairytail he'd painted in his head, after all, bent over and taken unceremoniously in a garden which was once magical. I can see how the drunk third heir to a criminal syndicate would make a poor Prince Charming. Well if it's a fantasy he wants, I have one-way ticket to Wonderland. 

I sink a hand in his fluffy hair. It feels like spun sugar, so soft and so easy to tangle my fingers in. Sora yelps softly as I wrench him backward, on his knees with his back against my chest. I push the mouth of the bottle of sake between his lips and force him to tilt his head sharply back.

"Mmmph!" Tiny, muffled noises. 

"Drink it," I command. His adam's apple bobs as he submits meekly. I lower him slowly on my cock, syncing with the receding level of alcohol in the bottle. 

The empty bottle rolls away in the grass and Sora has gone quiet, his cute lips parted around its phantom. The sake finds its way into the skinny man's bloodstream rapidly, with no food or water to slow its path. I grip him by the waist and continue to thrust. His head lands back on my shoulder, lolling slightly. 

" _ Kimochi iiiiii... _ " he moans ardently, "Jurei-san... Jurei-san..." He's finally enjoying himself, or too drunk to care, but the important thing is, he's a little less annoying now. "You're the best, Jurei-san..." And the worship doesn't hurt either. Sora's expression turns agonized; he says the words as if reading out a eulogy. "I like you, Jurei-kun... I really,  _ really  _ like you." But I knew that. His head tips in the other direction and it's as if his mood does too. He's smiling too wide, eyes closed beatifically. Sora devolves into hapless babbling in Japanese as I wrap my arms around his slender frame. " _ Motto! _ "  _ More.  _ I oblige him, thrusting harder. Fluffy hair bounces jauntily on his head as his giggles get louder. The alcohol emboldens him to reach back and grab my hair. 

"Sora," I moan in his ear.

"Itte ii?" he begs to cum in a passionate gasp.

"Hai," I say simply.  

Sora goes limp in my arms; his seed spilled in the grass and my own inside him. 

"Attakai desu..." he murmurs insensately. 

I watch Sora roll over the grass giggling like a sozzled bimbo, satisfied. I doubt any tattoos are getting finished tonight... I tie my yukata back together as I get to my feet, then toss his robe over him awkwardly like a blanket. It would do me no good for him to die of the cold out here, but I find it challenging to come up with an unsuspicious way to carry him back to the quarters he shares with Master Hiroshi. 

 

The corridors of the Pagoda are dark. Most of the family has already retired for the night, making the journey to my room much easier. A puddle of orange light catches my attention. I see that it's filtering through a screen door, the one to the ceremony room. Curiosity gets the better of me as I tiptoe towards it on silent feet, the floorboards not even so much as whispering beneath me. I slide the door open by a fraction, just enough to peer inside. 

Sure enough, my father and uncles have gathered for a strategy meeting, sitting cross-legged around the table. They watch stoically with hands placed on their knees as my brother Keiichi gives a presentation before a map of Clear tacked up on the board. Pictures of important members of the mafia are pinned all around it. Lazarre D'Oro is right at the top: Massimo's father and the current don. I find Massimo's picture too, slightly below it. He's always so handsome, be it a selfie or a mugshot...

"The D'Oros encroach further north with each passing week." He uses a knife to trace their paths into our territory. "They've started picking off our informants and aether runners, and we already know that they've been stockpiling weapons. I have reason to believe that a full-scale attack is on the horizon." Keiichi's face is grim. "They may even target the Pagoda." 

"What would you have us do, my son?" Father asks.

"If we don't push back, they  _ will  _ keep pushing. So I think we should make a preemptive strike," Keiichi says without hesitation, "We've allowed ourselves to grow fat, rich and content." 

"Nothing wrong with any of that," one of my uncles jokes, patting his pot belly. Agreeable laughter around the table. 

" _ Complacency! _ " My brother slams his fist against the map. "That's what it is... We must show the  _ dishonorable _ mafia that the yakuza is still strong, and we won't take their transgressions lightly... If we launch the first offensive, then we will have momentum on our side. We can drive these mafia dogs back to the filthy hole they came from." Drawing more furious lines on the map with his knife, Keiichi speaks with growing urgency. "Striking their aether shipments we will weaken them first, then push past the Harm's Way border into South Clear. Once there, we will target key members of the mafia and take them out, crippling their precious famiglia." He slashes several pictures on the board, slicing through handsome Italian faces with reckless abandon: their treasurer, an arms dealer, the brother of the don...

Keiichi spins on his heels and bows to our father respectfully. 

"Otou-san, give me permission to lead this mission." I cannot see my father's face from this angle. My skin crawls with dreading anticipation. There has always been balance in Clear: balance between yakuza and mafia. Coexistence is the status quo, but this... This would be violence, the likes of which neither family has seen for generations. 

"You have my blessing, son." Father's words make my blood run cold as they seal the fate of my lover pinned on the board like just a pawn in the game. "The Akiras are going to war." 

Cheering, some of it drunken, erupts around the table. My uncles slap each other on the backs boisterously. If there's one thing that gets them more excited than alcohol, it's the promise of bloodshed. Keiichi grins triumphantly as he strides back across the room. He douses his knife in sake and sets it aflame with a lighter. 

"We will bring cosa nostra to its knees..." He whips around, sending the knife spinning through the air. My heart leaps into my throat as it lands with a thud, buried dead center in the picture of Massimo. Fire consumes his face before spreading over the entire map. "And then  _ behead _ it."

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi reader, hope you had fun, and if you did, DON'T FORGET TO LEAVE A LIKE AND SUBSCRIBE- oh wait, wrong website... Well, a comment and kudos would be much appreciated too (I accept anons)! Even if you didn't, hey, I'd love to hear what I could do better! I definitely do reply. 
> 
> Click [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KassiopeiaX/profile?utm_source=ao3&utm_campaign=authors_notes) to find my upcoming update schedule on my profile!
> 
>  **Disclaimer** This is a prequel spinoff: Jurei Akira is a supporting character from [The Human Rayce](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14040666/chapters/32340450), but 'The Life and Crimes' can be read independently of any of my other work.
> 
> \- KassiopeiaX


	2. Crossing Enemy Lines

"I need to talk to you, it's important," I tell Massimo, but I don't feel as though the urgency is getting through to him, instead hitting the massive brick wall that seems to stretch between his ears.

_"Can it wait, babe? I told my cousin I'd help him go wife-shopping today."_

"We can meet at one of my brothels. Chateau Seraph."

 _"Be right over."_ I hear a beep as he ends the call. My brow creases in annoyance. There is however, a glory hole cut into that brick wall...

I almost allow myself to relax as my chauffeur drives me to the Chateau, until I spot a black car with heavily tinted windows in the rearview mirror. My heart jolts: it's a yakuza car. Keiichi is having me followed; how _dare_ he?! _Calm down_ , I tell myself, taking a few deep breaths. I help manage the Akira-owned strip clubs and brothels, so it isn't strange for me to be visiting one, unless I suddenly started behaving like it. I slide on a pair of dark sunglasses to further mute my expression. Business as usual.

The car curves around the ivory fountain in the middle of the roundabout driveway, sliding to a stop before a palatial white mansion. It looks more like a playboy mansion than a seedy brothel. This is a classy establishment. Not that there's anything wrong with seedy brothels - they do have that _je ne sais quoi:_ that classic forbidden pleasure. We run a few out on Harm's Way. But customer segmentation is a profitable business practice. You'd be surprised how many patrons are willing to spend more for clean whores. Floors. I meant to say floors.

As I step out of the car, I furtively let a sky-eye drone slip from my pocket. The bot lifts into the air, practically invisible against blue sky. For the finishing touch, I sync my phone with its camera. Rudimentary security, but it's better than nothing. I prefer to deal in subtleties, after all, and if you're trying to be subtle, you need to hold all the information.

Classical art hangs on the walls of the luxurious foyer and an ornate rug ties the whole room together. A dramatic arrangement of white gladiolus sits splayed from a precious vase, situated by the twin staircases that spiral to the upper floor. The brothel Monsieur who manages the day to day here has exquisite taste. Which is why I hired him.   

"Mr. Akira, what brings you here?" Speak of the devil, or angel depending on who you ask, Monsieur Esperance Plumeaux descends one of the staircases to meet me. "Our inspection isn't due for another week." His appearance is certainly angelic enough, with pure white hair that bounces about his face and soft features. His light blue eyes are peaceful like a clear summer sky. But don't let his heavenly presence fool you, Esperance is extremely good at what he does, and guards his dancers like family. They remind me of a sexier microcosm of the Akira family... I can respect that, even among whores.  

"Did a man come in here earlier? Tall, brown hair, gold highlights?"

"Well, yes, do you know him? I thought it strange for someone as comely as him to be frequenting a brothel in broad daylight..."

"Where?" I demand.

"He's with Matteo-"

"Don't give me names," I cut him off impatiently, snapping my fingers in his face a few times. "You know I don't care about names." In all his benevolence, he forgets that not everyone cares about his sluts the way he does, and if I'm being honest, he's probably the only one. Esperance looks indignant.

"A stripper," he says more harshly, "He's with one of my strippers in the Scorpio room."

"That's better." I pat the little pet's ivory cheek.

Checking up on my drone, I see that the second car is just pulling into the driveway. A thuggish brute of a man steps out, wearing a suit and sunglasses. Kenta - I recognize him at once as Keiichi's most trusted hitman: the man he sends to avoid getting his hands dirty, whose hands are so filthy that it no longer makes a difference what he does. Keiichi must be really ticked off if he sent this guy to tail me. Kenta leans against the car with his arms folded, staring at the mansion. Simply waiting. The clock starts now.

"If any yakuza try to get in here, stall them," I tell Esperance quickly.

"What exactly is going on and what does it mean for my boys?" Such a diligent guardian angel.

"Nothing, if you do as I say." I ascend the staircase swiftly to the upper floor.

I find Massimo where Esperance said he'd be, in the Scorpio room. The furniture is all black, stark in the hot red lighting. A couch surrounds the private stage where a stripper dances on a pole to energetic and flirty electronic music. One of Esperance's boys. The stripper's wavy black hair bobs and sways as he moves up and down on the pole like an acrobat. Scantily clad in black, his slender body is on display for Massimo's hungry gaze. Well, if he's going to tomcat around, at least he's doing it with someone attractive...

"Jurei, you're here!" I'm shocked that Massimo even noticed me. He grins wide, lounging on the couch with his legs set apart and his arms behind his head.

"You got a stripper?" I narrow my eyes at him disapprovingly.

"You invite me to a strip club and expect me not to get a stripper?" He looks at me incredulously. Yes, I suppose that was a bit much to expect of him.

"Because I needed to talk- Oh forget it. This is more important." I sit down next to him, sinking into the incredibly comfortable leather sofa.  "Massimo, my brother is going to declare war on the mafia."

"War?" His grin flips in an instant. "Oh, don't say that word, I hate that word."  

"He already has my father's approval. Do you understand what this means? Senseless violence and bloodshed on the pretext of pride. Chest-thumping and machismo while our coffers run dry. Pointless gravedigging when we could be planting opportunities. The fighting would tear our families and this whole city apart."

"And it would keep _us_ apart," Massimo says bluntly. His forwardness makes me blush.

"Well, yes, but that's not the most important-" I break off when he takes my face in both of his strong hands, rubbing a cheek with his thumb.

"It's the most important thing to me..."  

"Max..." He kisses me passionately before I can go on. I melt into his grip, indulging myself in the taste of him and the luxurious scent of his expensive cologne.

"I don't want a war," he says when we come apart. He strokes my violet hair gently. "We'll figure something out..." I lean into his touch, letting the worries slip away. I came here little more than a tangle of nerves, but now, with the rhythmic lullaby of his hand in my hair, they slowly unravel again. There can't possibly be anything wrong with the world. There can't possibly _be_ a world outside this room.  

"Good. Now move, I paid for an entire hour." Massimo boots me out of paradise as he pushes me into the seat next to him. He winks at my indignant expression, the _asshole_ , he's doing this on purpose...

The stripper gets the message, working it on the stage. He struts around the pole with a sexy swagger, then drops his cute ass to the floor and slowly picks it up again. Massimo leans in, watching intently while I glare at the growing bulge in his pants. Hooking a leg around it, the stripper swings on the pole, then lifts himself on it in a gravity-defying trick, bent backwards like a bow and Massimo is ready to shoot...

"Ciao, bello!" Massimo whistles at the stripper. He slaps his knees. "Bring that ass over here!"

Sliding back down easily, the raven-haired stripper's high heels click on the black marble floor. A black feather earring twirls flirtatiously from his ear as he catwalks this way.

"Hey there, sexy," he giggles, running his fingers lightly over Massimo's collar. He spins around and shakes his ass to the beat of the music.

"Drop that bass..." Massimo grips the stripper's ass, and buries his face in it, making him giggle again.

"You're so funny," the stripper says. I roll my eyes so hard they might just fall out of my head. Just because he works at a classy brothel doesn't mean his technique is any more refined than a common street walker... It's so obvious what he's doing and so embarrassing that Massimo is falling for it. The stripper lowers himself even further in my boyfriend's lap, grinding aggressively on the bulge at his crotch.

"Keep going," Massimo moans, laying his head back to pant at the ceiling. Okay, that's quite enough. I may be the okashira's son, but I'm not above a catfight. I pick up a glass of ice-cold water from the end table.

"You need to cool off." And upend it over the stripper's head.

"Hey!" It jolts him off Massimo and right into my clutches as I grip his hair roughly and twist him around. "Ow, ow, owwwww!" The stripper squeals, stumbling on his impractical heels.

"Talentless slut." I snarl and toss him onto the other couch where he curls up, drenched and rubbing his shoulders for warmth.

"Hey, come on boys, there's plenty of Massimo to go around." Massimo isn't very proactive about ending the scuffle, though, sitting back to enjoy the show.

"No there isn't," I pounce into his lap, freeing his cock in one swift movement. I grip it tightly. "This is _all mine._ " Massimo gives me a sexy growl.

"I love it when you get jealous..." he says.

"You won't love it when I cut your penis off." I jack him off.

"But then you'd be cranky _all_ the time." He smooches me playfully.

"I'll keep it in a jar and shake it when I get bored." Massimo puts his hands on my hips and flashes me the heavy-lidded look that happens to be code for _sex._ So why do I feel like I'm forgetting something as I guide his hand to the back of my pants where we both start to slowly peel them off... My eyes suddenly shoot open. The drone! _Kenta._

Swearing, I push off and dig up my phone at the same time. Both cars are still in the driveway, but Kenta is nowhere to be found. _He's in the house_.

" _Fuck!_ " I curse aloud.

"Yeah, that's what I thought we were going to do." It's Massimo's turn to look grouchy.

"You have to get out of here! My brother's hitman-!"

" _Hitman?_ " He repeats.

Voices downstairs. Rushing to the door, I peek through the slit to see Kenta shoving Esperance aside. The hitman storms up the stairs. _Oooh no_. I quickly shut the door behind me, but if doors could stop Kenta, he would not be a hitman.

"Hide!" I yell at Massimo who is just standing there like a gorgeous stag caught in the headlights. He darts left, then right, then settles for diving behind one of the couches. Oh, great hiding place, no one will think to check there! - is what I want to say, but I swallow the words when the door comes down.

"I do hope I'm not interrupting, Jurei-sama." Kenta's tone is shockingly polite, almost mild-mannered, for a man who just smashed a hardwood door in two. The stripper screams very helpfully, cowering on the couch.

"Kenta!" I break into a sweat. "Wh-What are you doing here?" Kenta takes off his sunglasses and folds them neatly, agonizingly slow, before tucking them into his breast pocket. He scans the room with impassive grey eyes.

"If I'm being quite honest with you, Jurei-sama," he replies on his own time, "Your brother sent me to check up on you."

"Oh, did he now?" My voice comes so close to breaking. I try to look anywhere except where I know Massimo is hiding, but I have an almost pathological urge to do just that. "As you can see, I'm simply doing a routine inspection of the property."

"Is that so," Kenta says quietly, "What a coincidence; so am I." He walks over to a couch and lifts the entire thing as if it was little more than a box of packing peanuts. It wasn't the one Massimo was hiding behind but I almost scream anyway. I bite down on my knuckle to stop myself as he scans the pale imprint of the couch and the space behind it.  "It's quite clean in here," he comments lightly.

"Yes it is," I squeak, "Are you interested in a show? On the house, of course..." I try to tempt him away from the other couch.

"No, thank you." _This isn't working._

"Wait!" I cry out just as he bends towards it. He turns his head. "You... You got me. I have a confession to make." Still no change in his expression, but he seems to be giving me room to speak. I hop up on the stage and hold the pole with both hands. "I've been learning how to pole dance." Kenta stands straight up.

"And him?" He nods briefly at the stripper.

"He's my teacher!" I add yet another layer of absurdity to the lie. The stripper makes a face at me. I have no way of knowing if this is even working or not, because there isn't the slightest shift in Kenta's expression - or lack thereof. The big hitman folds his arms over his chest.

"I would love to see what you've learned, Jurei-sama."

"O-Oh yes, of course." I stare at the pole, which is suddenly the most terrifying object in the room. _Oh come on, this can't be so hard..._ That brainless stripper can do it, after all. I place a foot against the pole, then place it back down. Then I attempt to hop on it, wrapping my legs around the slick metal. I slide back down slowly and land on my ass. The metal is so smooth; how does anyone stay on this thing? The raven-haired slut snickers at me; I shoot a glare at him as if he buttered the pole. Then I can sense Kenta's glare burning into my head.

"I'm still pretty new at this..." I mutter.

"Perhaps it would help to take your clothes off." My face goes red hot as a blush blossoms over it.

"Kenta!" I say in a tone which I hope reminds him that I am his superior.

"Oh no, he's right," the stripper pipes up, "As your _teacher_ , I think you should take your clothes off." He's enjoying this way too much. Trapped in Kenta's gaze, I unbutton my shirt slowly, letting the crisp white ends fall away in sections from my lean chest. The shirt and blazer fall into a pile on the floor, but I don't feel cold. The private room is set to the perfect temperature to keep scantily clad dancers warm... Kenta steps closer to the stage, arms still folded. He watches intently as a I draw my hands through my silky purple hair, letting it cascade around my shoulders.

I can't stall forever, but I'm still not ready as the pants come off. I slide them down over the curve of my bare ass. Blushing deeply, I let them drop the rest of the way and step out of the pile of fabric, left in a white thong meant only for Massimo. Kenta allows his gaze to drop to my crotch. I hide behind the pole, but of course, that's an even worse hiding place than Massimo's.

"Don't be so nervous," says Kenta. I'm not nervous, I'm ashamed that the treat I brought for my boyfriend is now being devoured by another man. His eyes have no right to be looking at me like that. Just then, I see Massimo crawling his way to freedom behind him. I need to keep his eyes right where they are.

Taking the pole in one hand, I sashay around the stage, commanding attention. I even remember to put a sway to my hips. Kenta is fully absorbed in watching me now. I may not be capable of any fancy pole dancing moves, but I do know the easiest trick in the playbook... Turning on a man! I grip the pole and bend backwards, pushing my crotch up against the smooth metal.

"Kenta..." I say his name like a lover, tossing back my hair. Red spotlights shine down on me from above: the color of _lust._ Then I swivel around, capturing the pole between my asscheeks suggestively and moving up and down on it. He takes in my every move with unbreakable attention while that shame slowly matures into arousal... I dance against the pole more than I do on it, twirling out my hips into figure eights and shaking my body to the music. I plant a hand on my generous hips as I lean on the pole and wink at him. Hooking a thumb into the side strap of my thong, I drag it down ever so slowly, brutally tempting him with secrets within. I think I see his eyes widen fractionally that time: the most emotion he's shown this entire time - maybe his entire life. He might be a huge, terrifying and unfeeling machine of a hitman, but deep down, he is still just that: a _man_. He almost looks disappointed when I snap the thong back into place.

Resisting laughter, I push Kenta back onto the couch and ease myself into his lap, one knee on either side. I'm not even on the pole anymore, but he doesn't seem to mind. He lets his eyes run wild over my exposed body. My gently heaving chest, pale pink nipples. The even dip of my flat stomach. And finally, he lifts his expressionless grey gaze to stare into my brown eyes. Out of the corner of them, I see Massimo sneaking out through the broken door. Kenta catches the movement and turns - _No! -_ I lunge forward to capture his lips without even thinking.

Lips pressed against his, my heart thumps loudly in my chest. There's a raging blush on my face which gets worse when Kenta puts a hand in my hair. How can these same hands stained with the blood of hundreds be so gentle? He tilts my head slightly to enter my mouth. But he's gone as soon as he came, as if he only wanted the slightest taste. I search his cool grey eyes, desperate for an inflection to tell me whether my ruse was successful.

"You're very attractive, Jurei-sama," he says.

"I know..."

"May I get up now?"

"O-Of course." I climb off him, embarrassed as Kenta rises from the couch.

"I hope you keep practicing." He leaves at last. Massimo is long gone, but my heart is still pumping a mile a minute.

"And you call _me_ a slut," the stripper pipes up from the other side of the room.

"Don't forget who owns this place," I snap at him, collecting my clothes from the stage floor.

 

###

  
I slam the door to the tea room open, yelling,

"I can't believe you!" Keiichi sits across a chess board from one of our cousins, regarding the board with an analytic gaze as he draws the routes of his pieces with his eyes. Steams curls from the cup of fragrant jasmine tea by his hand. He doesn't spare me a glance.

"What are you talking about?"

" _Kenta!_ " I cry out, exasperated. Keiichi ignores me, dragging a rook across the board to checkmate his opponent's queen with the decisiveness of a yakuza heir, but he'd need the wit of a yakuza businessman to know that he's left his king open in the exchange. Of course, our cousin doesn't know that because he is neither. He just groans, running a hand through his hair.

I press him, "You sent Kenta to follow me! Do you think I'm some kind of child who needs supervision at all times?"

"If you have nothing to hide, it shouldn't worry you," says Keiichi.

"I'm your brother and the third son of the okashira. You _will_ show me respect."

"Are you sure you want to bring respect into this?" Finally, he looks at me, annoyed. "I would win that argument, _cocksucker_." The word comes completely out of nowhere, but it has a cruelly sharp edge. An involuntary gasp escapes me, along with a tear. It feels strangely real. Our cousin's eyes widen; he looks awkwardly between us.

"Nii-san..." I trail off. A flash of regret flits over his expression.

"Jurei, I..." He unfolds from the floor, standing close to me so as to edge our cousin out of the conversation. His hand lands on my shoulder as the other clears wetness from my cheek. "I didn't mean that," he says softly, "I'm just trying to help you. We're the sons of the okashira; sometimes we have to sacrifice what we want for what the family needs. And right now, the family needs strong leaders."

 _Why, because you're plunging us into a bloody war to stroke your own ego?_ I think bitterly but I don't say it out loud.

"No one is going to follow someone who spends all his time on his back for other men." Well that's patently untrue, because I'm not always on my back, am I? An image of the wasted body of Sora lying in the grass returns to me, unbidden, along with a brief wave of nausea.

"I understand..." I relent.

"I know you're going to get your tattoos someday, you're a bright one," he says encouragingly and I look at him, grateful. "Besides, it's just as well that you haven't gotten them yet. If they made tattoos for what you do, there would be dicks all over your back," he says it with humor, not bite this time. I can't help but laugh.

"Nii-san!" I punch him lightly in the shoulder.

"I'll call off Kenta," he levels with me, "But don't take your freedoms for granted..." I nod slightly. Guilt is not a feeling I like associating myself with, but there it is. _I love Massimo_ , I remind myself. _But you love your family too._

As I walk back to my room, I pass the sauna room. Someone has carelessly left the dial turned on when they left. I peek in through the small square window to make sure no one is inside, and only then do I see the tiny figure crumpled on the floor. A frail and naked, almost skeletal, young man on his knees, head hanging as his sky blue hair drips slowly. His arms are suspended over his head by ropes attached to the low roof, holding him in place. I gasp aloud. _Sora._

"Sora!" I actually shout it as I rush into the steam room. A wall of heat physically hits me full in the face as if I pulled open an oven door. This is anything but a nice, relaxing sauna. Sora doesn't respond as I drop to his side, attempting to wake him. His usually fluffy blue hair is slicked to his head with steam and sweat and his delicate skin is dangerously flushed, but he isn't sweating anymore. Dehydrated, his condition is quickly deteriorating. I lift his face in my hands, searching for signs of life. A soft sigh and fluttering eyelids. "Stay with me!" I say, if he can even hear me in whatever dreamscape he wanders. I look for a knife.

Who could bear to hurt, let alone cage a pretty bluebird like him- I stop myself there when I realize the answer is _me_. The door opens again; I lift my head. Master Hiroshi stands in the doorway, wearing a luxurious silk robe tied over his hefty gut while his apprentice is tied up naked, emaciated and about to die of heat exhaustion. I make the connection easily enough.

"You did this," I accuse, "Why?"

"With all due respect, how I discipline my apprentice is none of your concern, Jurei." _Discipline._ My blood manages to run cold, even in this intense heat.

"What... Did he do?" I ask without even wanting to know the truth.

"Well if you must know, he snuck off in the middle of his work on Michio's tattoo to get drunk. I found him naked and hungover in the gardens in the morning. He brought me _disgrace_ , that is what he did, Jurei," Hiroshi spits furiously. Sora lets out a tortured sound halfway between a sob and a moan. He's being punished for what _I_ did to him.

"Please let him go."

"And why does this concern you so much?"

I drop to my knees and bow, touching my forehead to my hands on the floor.

"Onegaishimasu... Do it for me, Hiroshi-sama, onegai" I beg. Hiroshi looks surprised, and so would I. It would surprise anyone that the son of the okashira would prostrate himself on behalf of a lowly apprentice. He doesn't reply, but cuts Sora loose. His head lolls back over my arm as I gather the bag of bones up. Hiroshi steps aside to let us through, but he watches me go distrustfully.

My wife is wearing lingerie.

"There you are!" Cherise plants her hands on her hips and tosses her bouncy blonde hair. She wears a daring red lace teddy to accentuate her stunning hips and tits. The flimsy lace does so very little to shield her rosy pink nips and a slit cut out at the crotch, advertises loud and clear exactly what she wants. In a parallel universe, I'm sure I'm the luckiest man in the world, but right now, she's distracting me and her perfume is too strong.

"Can it wait?" I lay Sora on our bed, brushing rose petals out of the way.

"Oh and who is this?" She groans. "You're bringing your slutty little boy toys home now? Are you going to make me watch?"

"He's not a _toy!_ " She succeeds in goading a furious response out of me.

"Oh right, I forgot, you prefer to take it in the ass, not give it."

"Goddammit, woman, can't you see he's hurt?" Lifting Sora's head gingerly, I tilt a bottle of water to his lips. "Come on, wake up..."

"Okay, I can't watch this anymore." It's just as well when Cherise gets up. She tosses an expensive fur coat purchased with my money over her shoulders and leaves the room. Maybe I should be concerned where she's going dressed like a flasher, but after a valiant effort lasting all of two seconds, I give up on that endeavor.   

Redoubling my efforts to rouse Sora instead, I sponge his forehead with a damp towel. _He's alive!_ A wave of relief crashes over me when his light brown eyes open slowly, but he looks less relieved when he realizes it's me. Sora tenses up all over.

"J-Jurei-san-" he stammers, terrified. I take my hands off him, because the last time they touched him, they brought violence.

"I know you don't want to see me right now, or maybe ever, but I couldn't just leave you there," I explain.

"You left me in the garden." He looks at me with those sad eyes.   

"I have no excuse, but maybe I can make it up to you somehow."

"You don't have to do that," Sora says quietly. He spots the bottle of water and drinks greedily. A trickle escapes from the corner of his lips. "Well actually... Maybe you could... No, it's silly." He looks away, bashful.

"What is it?" I insist. He gathers up his courage.

"You could... call me Sora-chan."

"Sora-chan?" I repeat, surprised. He blushes deeply.

"I told you it was silly." Silence, in which my face is beginning to grow warm too. I rub my arm slightly, then I have to change the subject.  

"Do you want a Kit-Kat?" I say abruptly. He looks confused.

"I don't... _Not_ want a Kit-Kat." Sora's puppylike brown eyes alight when I lift one up close to his face.

"For you, Sora-chan." He giggles. He wears joy better than agony. Sora peels the plastic back with teeth and breaks the candy bar in two, handing me half.

"You need it more than me."  
"Why would you say that?" He looks self-conscious, drawing the corner of the blanket over his dangerously thin body. _Because maybe you should see a doctor about that eating disorder._

"Because he nearly killed you." I choose a more diplomatic answer instead.

"Oh no, Master Hiroshi would never _kill_ me... He disciplines me because he worries about my development. Maybe one day I can be a great irezumi master like him..."

"That's bullshit!" I cry out indignantly. He just flinches. "He's abusing you," I say, "And you have to tell him he can't treat you like that!"

"Perhaps it's difficult for you to imagine..." he starts quietly and first, then gathers strength, "But I want to bring honor to my master." It takes me a while to realize it, because he spoke in such a polite tone, but that's his version of backtalk. When I do, my hand moves faster than my brain, striking Sora across the face with an open-handed slap. He lets out a tiny cry as he hits the sheets.

"Ungrateful wretch... Get the hell out of my sight," I hiss.

Sora flies out of the room without another word. When I've calmed down a little, I notice that he left my half of the candy bar on the bedspread. Stupid bluebird... I chew on it moodily in the dark loneliness of my room. Some people just want to keep living in their cages, even when you hold open the door for them.

But Massimo... He isn't like the others. He's free, like me. Suddenly, I burn to talk to him... And I want him to burn for me too. The moment I throw open Cherise's wardrobe full of lacey things, I'm nearly buried in an avalanche of female desire, all of which were wasted on me until desire slowly contorted into disgust for her gay husband. I find a few freaky vibrators mixed in with her clothes. Well if these were her standards, she was always destined to be disappointed with me... Cherise's taste in lingerie can be so tacky sometimes. Except for _this_. I hold up a black slip. It's perfect: the ideal combination of slutty and classy.

I pose for myself in the full-length mirror. The slip just barely covers my ass presented in a g-string. I fit perfectly in her sheer black stockings and garter. _Perfect_. Quickly lighting a few candles, I set up my laptop to call Massimo. His image pops up on the screen.

 _"Ciao bello,"_ he says casually, then his eyebrows shoot up. _"Well, ciao_ bello _,"_ he growls when he sees what I'm wearing.

"Hi Max." I roll over on the sheets like a lazy cat. "You like?" Then pop a leg in the air.

 _"Very much..."_ He sits in his study, smoking a cigar. He drags the laptop closer to get a better look. _"You look amazing."_

"I know," I say simply. I get him excited when I hold up a purple dildo.

_"Is that the one I sent you?"_

"Mmhm." Taking it in my mouth, I lubricate the entire length. It feels bumpy and thick on my tongue.

 _"I wish you were here so you could put that pretty mouth in my lap..."_ He makes do as he unzips his pants to stroke himself.

"And you could put this pretty toy in my ass..." I position the dildo underneath me on the bed, sizing it up eagerly. Massimo knows exactly what I like. His golden eyes follow me as I lower myself, moaning. Small enough to be comfortable but girthy enough to drive me wild - a toy that could only have been hand-picked by someone intimately familiar with my ins and outs. I bob on the toy, moaning loudly and steadily taking it deeper.

 _"Get on all fours,"_ Massimo demands in a voice hoarse with need. I follow orders even when my dom isn't around to enforce them, dropping on all fours with my bouncy ass facing the camera. I thrust the dildo in and out, crying aloud desperately. Angling it just right, I manhandle my own prostate. My cock drools eagerly.

I drop my head to the bed, locking eyes with him between my thighs. My movements get slower and more deliberate, grinding that toy as deep as it will go.

"I'm so close," I whisper. The bright red expression on his face tells me I nearly made him blow right then and there. I laugh, picking up the pace again. My climax comes hot and fast, splattering the bedsheets.

 _"Clean it up."_ I blush deeply, but I'm always more adventurous with him. I lick some of my own orgasm off the sheets, maintaining eye contact with my lover the whole time. That was enough to get him off. Massimo climaxes with a moan, finally sitting back in his seat as he pants for air. I hear the door to his study open. _"Can you give me a minute?"_ he says irritably.

 _"It's not good practice to keep an assassin waiting."_ Wait, what? Massimo and I sit straight up at the same time.

"An assassin? What do you need an assassin for?" I ask, tense.

 _"You're not supposed to be here!"_ Massimo doesn't answer, standing up instead. His flaccid thing flops around. Pants. Pants are such a problem for him.

"Max? _Max!_ " The last I see is him reaching out to slam his laptop shut and the camera cuts out.

My heart pounds in my chest. Massimo was hiring an assassin, but for what? _Mafia and yakuza hire assassins all the time, it doesn't have to mean anything_... says my voice of reason. But I never listen to that one: he's a liar. I can only trust myself. My bedroom door opens, promptly derailing my train of thought. Cherise sways drunkenly in the doorway, holding a bottle of whiskey. She takes one look at me illuminated in the light of the laptop, on all fours in her lingerie, then at the dildo on the sheets beside me. She takes a really long swig of alcohol.

"Nope." And goes right back the way she came.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Cherise.


	3. Something in the Stratosphere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought I'd post this early in the spirit of the holiday. Happy Easter and April Fools Day! (This won't happen again for another 11 years, you do realize...)

Stratos, the casino in the sky. Escape for those rich enough to afford it: a utopia of unrestrained debauchery so high above the squalor of Clear that all you can see beyond the band of glass that circles the tower is puffy clouds. You would be forgiven for mistaking it for heaven, but you would soon find this place closer to hell. The game machines vy for the attention of the drugged and drunk, childish counterparts to the classy mahogany card tables in the background. But games are not the reason the most wealthy and powerful men in the city find themselves here, no, it's the women.

Women were segregated from the general population years ago, locked away in the Repopulation Society for their own safety. Let us just say that the Akiras were wise enough to invest in the Society while it was young, and generations later, we remain the richest family in the republics. Our family was built on foresight and I am the most foresighted of them all.

Now the only chance an average man has with a woman is when they apply for stud service: a brief and _expensive_ liaison that may or may not result in a child. If a boy, sent home to the male, and if a girl, raised in the Society with the others. Only the truly wealthy can afford to outright purchase a wife. A wife like Cherise, yes I'm aware. Even then, the only place to see this many women all at the same time is Stratos. Here, women come in two varieties: curvy or waifish, which tend to cover all preferences. Or perhaps we set the preferences. They roam freely through the dim blue light like strange aliens ferrying drinks. Wearing light-up clothes, they blink like neon signs, that is, when they bother to wear anything at all.

Grandfather cops a feel of a passing waitress, eliciting a well-trained giggle as I wheel him towards the poker table. Usually, the cool blue light has a calming effect on me, even if the women themselves have none at all, but today it creates shadows everywhere I look, morphing into the shape of phantom assassins. I break into a cold sweat. I hate this uncertainty; I hate it! So why did _Massimo_ inflict it on me? The obvious choice of target would be my father, or even Keiichi, both of whom are so conveniently here today... An assassin would kill for an opportunity like this, and they frequently do just that.

"Jun-Jun, you look tense," my grandfather interrupts, ever perceptive.

"It's nothing serious." My face cracks into an awkward smile as I try to dispel thoughts of an assassin in a suction suit scaling the outside of the tower with a rifle in hand. "Simply a... Financial issue."

"Jurei Akira does not have financial issues, and if he does, he would be out fixing them, not wheeling an old man around Stratos," he says.

"I like wheeling you around Stratos, old man." My smile feels slightly more real. I park him at the poker table with all his old buddies. The rest of the republics know them as some of the worst arms dealers, slavers, smugglers and hitmen to ever disgrace Clear and these are the stubborn bastards who actually survived their careers to retire and become cute old men. They look innocuous at first glance, harmless even, but the body count represented by this poker table runs into numbers that would make a high stakes poker dealer blush. Tonight, they relax, sporting gorgeous lades on each arm. A brunette in a light-up bikini leans over my grandfather to massage his shoulders. He leans back with a grateful sigh,

"Roxannah, you are an angel." He opens an eye at me lazily. "Don't work yourself too hard, Jun-Jun."

"I won't, Jiji," I say briefly, as if it's even an option at this point, "Good luck on your poker game. The treasury can't handle much more of your losing..."

"I always have an ace up my sleeve." His dark eyes twinkle as he winks at me and tugs on his sleeve. An actual ace of spades tumbles out of it on accident. His friends narrow their eyes at him. I cover my smile with a hand.

"Have fun." I walk past the orgy pit on the way to the bar, briefly glancing into it. Not that I ever enjoy what I see there; it's more of a morbid curiosity. I can't make out much beyond a jumble of strangely detached, writhing limbs floating in a stew of sweat and... Other fluids. A steamy melange of moans and grunts rises from the pit, only drowned out - thank goodness - by the sound of the game machines.

I make out one figure, starkly clear in the orgy: an overweight older man plowing plump ass into the ground. I can't even find the other end of her. Well gee, I should hope it's still attached. He senses my gaze and turns to face me, his identity concealed by a plastic pig mask. At least he's being honest. I meet his gaze, unblinking as I toying languidly with the end of the fishtail braid I meticulously wove my hair into this morning. Technical procedures calm me, especially when they concern my hair. I wonder, does he know how truly disgusting he is? People like him come here to forget about their responsibilities, forget who they are and follow their darkest desires to their most depraved ends. I break eye contact first, spinning around to continue on my way. Some of us don't have time to be a slave to our base urges.

I slip off my silver bracelet and place it on the bar. It segments into a small army of robotic mites with needle-like legs as I calibrate my phone to their signals. At my command, the mites scurry away to the far corners of Stratos, thin legs perfectly designed to grip walls and even hang from ceilings where they can be as innocuous as possible. The eight points of view diverging on my screen make me feel slightly better. More angles, fewer variables.

"Jurei!" I look up from my phone as Yosuke slides into the seat beside me, grinning. His positive energy seems to fill whatever space it's given like a noxious gas. I try to fight it: this is no time to relax. He signals to the bartender who already knows his drink order by heart. A Bellini, sweet and a tad fruity, just like him. I take a sip of whiskey.

"Can I help you?" I ask, sounding colder than I intended.

"I should be asking you that. I thought you hated Stratos."

"I don't hate it, I just think it's unsafe," I say.

"There's security..."

"Half of which is in the orgy pit. We're _vulnerable_ here."

"Which explains the spying." He's caught sight of my screen, which I quickly turn away from him. "Because that's not creepy at all..." Yosuke sighs. He's always trying to get me to just _'relax, little bro_ , _go with the flow every now and then_ . _'_ What he calls a flow, I call a deadly undertow that would not hesitate to drag us all to a watery grave... Besides, the family doesn't need two Yosukes, and I say that with utmost affection for my brother.

"Look, I heard that you and Cherise have been going through some hard times lately," he says sympathetically. I think the _lack_ of hardness is the actual issue. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. My relationship with that bimbo is the last thing on my mind right now. "Jurei, there's nothing _wrong_ with being gay... Most men in Clear are gay, but that's because they don't have a choice. You and I have... Options available to us that I don't think you're exploring properly. So I thought I'd give you a hand." No surprise here, Yosuke takes it upon himself to play Cupid around the Pagoda, completely unsolicited, I might add. How good is he at it? Well, I believe it was at a blind date he had set up for me that I decided I was completely, totally and irrevocably gay forever.

"Yosuke, I really don't think-" The rest of that sentence comes out as a sigh when my brother excitedly waves over one of the cocktail waitresses. She sashays this way, tossing her deep purple hair as plump lips curl into a seductive smile. The blue LED bodysuit that she wears contrasts exotically with her dark skin. There's nothing particularly _wrong_ with her: I'm sure another man would be wild about her. You know. A not- _gay_ one.

"I want you to meet one of my favorite girls in Stratos, Jinx," Yosuke introduces her as he slides an arm around her shapely waist. Jurei and Jinx? It has a ring to it. I wouldn't be surprised if that was Yosuke's sole basis of compatibility.

"Hi, Yosuke," Jinx giggles, lightly stroking his collarbone.

"Hey babe." He plants a kiss on her hip which is the only part of her he can reach sitting down. "This is my little brother, Jurei. Make him feel like a man. And if you do a good job, you could even make the shortlist for wifey #3..." Does he notice the desperate flash in her eyes? She doesn't care about him, she would do anything, say anything to get out of here. Between the prison that is the Repopulation Society and the hell that is Stratos, the only escape is marriage to a nice, rich man. As far as rich men go, my brother isn't a bad option; at least he has a sense of humor. But if that's contingent on me, then he might as well be an impossible option.

"So let me get this straight." I place my phone facedown on the bar. "You want me to fix my marriage with Cherise by cheating on her?"

" _Practice_. You're practicing." Well isn't that convenient. "Have fun, you two!" He actually leaves us alone as if he expects something to blossom in a barren place by simply tossing seeds in its general direction. I told you my brother has a sense of humor.

 

"So... What do you do for fun?" Jinx pipes up for the third time this hour as if I haven't been the most sullen and unengaged blind date on the planet: that asshole who spends the entire evening on his phone. Sorry, I'm not sorry. Without looking up from my screen, I say flatly,

"Men. I do men for fun, Jinx."

"Oh." She falls silent again. Her eyes look wet as she fights back tears. This must really mean a lot to her. I battle the feeling of guilt sinking in my chest: I don't have time for this! _Just compliment her._ That's what women like: compliments. _There must be something you like about her..._ I can appraise a woman even if I don't want her. Well her... _Hair_ is nice. She must have a great brand of conditioner. Her eyes are pretty, even when they're full of tears.

"Look, Jinx," Before I can finish my sentence, I see her pull out a mini aether gun from her pocket. A rapid drug delivery system that shoots aether straight into the sinuses - poof - instant high. Is she going to self-medicate? That makes my life easier. Jinx loads it with a pod of concentrated aether blue.

"I'm sorry, I really need this." She looks at me desperately.

"It's okay, I completely understa- AH!" Jinx shoves the mini gun up my nostril and pulls the trigger.

I'm on my feet at once, stumbling away from the bar with a hand over my nose.

"What have you done?!" I gasp out loud. Anger blooms in my head, but euphoria taints it when the drugs kick in. The room spins like a blender, swirling all the blinking lights together into a jumbled neon slushie and it's giving me a sugar high as I swim through it. I giggle, let out a snort, then clamp my hand over my nose and mouth. Did I do that? It sounded so funny... More giggles and snorts escape between my fingers until I just let them out, laughing all the breath from my lungs until nothing is coming out anymore and then I throw my arms around my aching stomach, shaking soundlessly. It feels _good_.

But you know what feels better than laughter? A hard-on. Which is what I've got when _she_ walks this way. Jinx weaves through the curtains of colors, swaying her hips. There's a clever twinkle in her eyes and the blue lights of her bodysuit flash hypnotically. I want to _touch_ them. She doesn't stop me when I place my hands on her waist, running them up and down along her hourglass curves.

"Woah, these are weird," I chuckle, honking her squishy tits.

"Wanna see them?" she asks in a seductive tone. I nod vigorously. Jinx peels her bodysuit from her chest, slowly revealing more and more of the ebony orbs underneath. I get impatient and abruptly pull it down all the way, freeing them from their prison. They bounce on her chest, pendulous and quivering. I dig my fingers in, marveling at the softness of her dark flesh. What purpose could these possibly serve? Handholds? Toys? Weapons? _All of the above?_

Jinx tosses her head back and moans as I run a finger in languid circles around her areola. I rub my erection against her but the cloth of my pants numbs the feeling; I growl desperately for release.

Wrapping my arms around her generous hips, I lift her onto the edge of the bar where she spreads her legs invitingly. She pulls aside the sodden crotch of her bodysuit to reveal a wet slit, then shows me how to use it. Jinx dips her fingers into herself, moaning as she rubs her clit between two fingers, then scissors them apart to show off her aroused labia. I lower my face level with it, squinting. Like a strange, wet flower, and yet it looks hungry, like an animal. Do you think it wants to kiss?

I bury my face in the folds, letting my tongue venture into the sweet valley. I hear her moan again. Her hand lands in my hair, alternating between gripping and stroking as I french her incredible second pair of lips, sliding my tongue in and out of warm depths. I draw back to suck on her clit, making her mouth up there gasp for air while the one down here drools greedily. I _want_ her.

Abruptly pushing myself up against her, I demand a kiss, sharing her taste with her. Jinx's arms wrap around my neck romantically. All the while, I'm fumbling with my zipper. This is so hard... I finally get it open and my erection throbs with anticipation in the open air. Her soft hand closes around it, guiding me to her waiting pussy. We slide together like a lock and a key: a perfect fit.

"Oh my god," Jinx gasps, squeezing me. It feels so warm in here. Slamming my hands down on the bar on either side of her plump ass, I thrust eagerly, using her tits as a soft chinrest. She buries my face in her breasts, muffling my heated moans. If these really are weapons then this is how I want to go... I find her nipples from memory and roll them between my fingertips. Railing her, I feel a climax mounting in my loins: hotter and hotter until it _explodes_ , showering her insides with ejaculate. Jinx quivers around me in an orgasm of her own, panting hard with her eyes screwed shut.

Jinx glows like a goddess on the bar. She's _radiant_.

"Let's dance," I ask, no, _beg_. I lead her onto the dancefloor, almost tripping over the slightly raised platform but she catches me, giggling. I'm giggling too. Every light in Stratos seems ten thousand times brighter when I take her hand. Her bodysuit goes off like fireworks; she smiles at me. I flash her a heavy-lidded look, but maybe I'm just sleepy. Jinx twirls and dips as we dart back and forth in a... Tango? A foxtrot? A waltz? How does she do any of those things in sky high heels? She spins towards me; I hold out an arm to catch her...

Then I see the door open. I straighten up at once. Jinx shrieks as she falls off the edge of the platform, ending up on the floor jiggling like a used silicone doll. _Massimo._ Only his presence could sober me like a bucket of ice cold water over the head. He isn't alone as he strolls into Stratos with his father and an entire entourage of mafiosos. Gravity feels heavier; I grip my hair, groaning - _snap out of it, Jurei!_ My bots... My bots! I feel all around my clothes but I can't find my phone. I _do_ find my gun.

Jinx screams when I pull it on her, hiding behind trembling hands.

" _Bitch!_ " I curse, "Give me one good reason not to put a bullet in your empty head!" She just sobs incoherently. It'll have to do as my father and Keiichi meet the mafia.

Don Lazarre D'Oro comes to a stop before my father, small in his shadow. Lazarre may be short and stout, but he exudes a kind of confidence that comes with birthright. He isn't afraid to to mix sleaze with class, wearing stacks of pimp-like golden rings on each hand and shockingly gold hair, slicked back, that looks almost like he cast a toupe in molten gold and then adjusted it on his head. Thank goodness Massimo took more after his mother... Keiichi narrows his eyes slightly at Massimo, who smirks, cocky. Allow me to translate:

_'Ah, yes, you must be the one who's fucking my brother.'_

_'Hell YEAH I'm fucking your brother.'_

Both gang leaders look grim as they stare each other down, each one flanked by a harem of wives. My father's is made up of the famed rainbow ladies in pastel kimonos, one of each color of the rainbow. They hide demurely behind folding fans, but bright eyes watch Lazarre's every movement. Lazarre's harem looks more like the cast of a porno: all blue-eyed, blonde or brunette, scantily clad in flashy gold cocktail dresses which hang precariously from massive boobs and endless legs. His favorite, Massimo's mother, bends over to rest an elbow on her shorter husband's shoulder, balanced perfectly on stilettos. She languidly takes a drag of her cigarette as she locks eyes with my mother in the violet kimono.

"Miraisaki," she says, grinning.

"Alcine," Mother acknowledges her.

"So what are you filthy Japs doing outside your natural habitat?" The switch flips. Knives and blades emerge from the folds of kimonos as guns slide from thigh and shoulder holsters, pointed across the aisle. My mother moved incredibly fast, her katana just under Alcine's slightly lifted chin while the brunette has an uzi directed right back at her. Smoke rolls over her ruby red lips pulled into an amused smile. My mother's grim expression doesn't even twitch.

"If you're going to bring a knife to a gunfight, you might as well get back in the kitchen."

"Yariman." Mother snarls at her.

"Puttana." Alcine grins back

Lazarre and Otou-san stare at each other all through this for what seems like forever. Finally, the storm breaks and they extend their arms, smiling.

"Mafioso dog," Unlike my mother, Father says it with affection.

"Yakuza filth." They embrace each other briefly, but there's something stiff about their movements; off-key about their smiles. The slimmest veneer of civility over deeply rooted rivalries.

"We thought we'd check in for a game or two, maybe a romp in the pit," Lazarre says casually.

"Well I would never turn away someone with so much money," my father replies with a tight smile.

A waiter walks swiftly towards my father, lifting a cloche from his tray - _assassin!_ I sprint towards the assailant, cutting right between the mafia and yakuza to get to him.

"Get down, it's an assassin!" I tackle the waiter to the floor. He squeals like a stuck pig; the tray clatters on the floor. I dig into it eagerly to pull out... A warm towel? "That... That can't be..." I mutter, frantically unrolling the towels as if a pistol might fall out of one. The back of my head burns; I can feel everyone staring at me. I whip around, wrapping the now-cold and wet towel around my neck.

"A-ha! A strangulation device!" I am convincing absolutely no one. Massimo abruptly bursts out laughing. At least _he's_ enjoying himself...

"Get up for god's sake!" Keiichi wrenches me to my feet, where I sway, unsteady. I'm sweaty from the exertion and my hair is a mess, standing at odd angles from my braid where Jinx tugged at it. My clothes are disheveled - even my fly is still down before I rapidly zip it back up. My skin crawls; I just want to tear it open at the forehead, peel everything off and start anew.

Keiichi runs a knuckle under my nose, then frowns at the blue granules that stuck to his hand. "Aether blue? You're a junkie now?"

"You can't blame the boy for dipping into the stock every now and then." Lazarre chuckles sympathetically. My father doesn't share the sentiment. He doesn't look my way but I see his mouth set in a frown. I know that face. The _dishonor_ face. Dishonor, dishonor, dishonor: even _Kenta_ has a wider range of expressions.

"Enjoy your stay," he says simply. The mafia entourage walks past him to the casino floor. Massimo lags behind to cast me a glance, but only for a moment.

"What's gotten into you?" Keiichi interrogates me, "You're acting even stranger than usual."

"An assassin," I moan, burying my face in my hands, "I think an assassin is going to make an attempt on Father's life..."

"And how do you know this?" he demands. He makes an educated guess: "Did this information come from Massimo?"

"In a manner of speaking..." I look away.

" _Chikusho!_ " Keiichi curses, his eyes darting around the casino. "Alright, I'll start pulling the family out of Stratos. No sudden movements." I nod hazily. Then immediately get back to looking for my phone as soon as he leaves. I _need_ it. I _need_ my bots... A hopeless refrain stuck on repeat as I crawl along the floor, abandoned here in the cold and dark by a drug-induced high. I make it to the edge of the orgy pit and peer inside reluctantly. _Please don't be down there..._ Then I feel a boot against my ass, which promptly kicks me in.

I land in a tangle of naked people. _No, no NO!_ Every inch of my skin screams and crawls with disgust, forced to _touch_ other bodies. I feel hands descending on me which I slap off desperately, panting as I crawl for the nearest edge. The horrific corridor of slimy limbs and dangling bits brings to mind zombie movies, none of which end well... I don't get very far when a heavier body pins me to the floor.

"Where do you think you're going?" Massimo's whisper in my ear sends a shiver down my spine.

"L-Let go of me!" I struggle against his hands traveling over my body. Massimo flips me on my back, roughly pinning a wrist over my head. "Ow-!" A plastic fox mask is just inches from my face. Behind its cut-out sockets, Massimo's eyes burn golden, angry.

"Did you forget who you belong to?" he growls. I moan, helpless, as he grips my crotch firmly. He snaps a bunny mask over my face as if simply hiding our faces will keep our families from discovering us.

"Who do you think you're fooling?" I ask.

"I don't care." He tears off my pants and takes me with a single thrust.

" _Max!_ " I call out ardently. No! He hired an assassin to attack my family! He betrayed my trust in him. He feels so good... I shudder against the filthy floor, racked with pleasure as he pounds my spot with abandon.

"Stop, stop, _stop it!_ " I cry out in a tone that says _more!_ He only gathers my legs over his strong arms and pushes them back for a better angle, nailing me to tiles.

"Don't you see what I'm doing?" He hisses, "I'm making you the leader of the yakuza!" It feels more like he's making me his bitch... "Once I get rid of your father and Keiichi, you'll be in line for okashira!" So he admits it! This idiot. My chest heaves to catch enough breath to respond,

"First of all," _-pant-_ "That would put _Yosuke_ in line for okashira, so your," _-moan-_ "Basic calculations are off... Secondly, what makes you think," _-gasp-_ "I'd be okay with you killing off my whole family?!"

"You don't even like your brother..." he mutters, wounded.  

"I don't want him _dead!_ " The word comes out louder than I'd intended, along with a climax.

Massimo manhandles my sensitive body just coming down from the high, turning me back on my knees. He wrenches one of my arms around to pin it to my back and shoves my face to the floor. I catch myself with my free hand, trembling with anticipation as he positions himself, aggressively hotdogging his pole between my cheeks.

"Why didn't you answer my texts?!" he demands.

"I can't believe we're doing this right now..."

"You don't get to ignore me!" He hilts himself, unprepared. I cry out, straining to adjust but I don't have the room to do it. His thrusts come deep and shortened for speed. Massimo goes at me like a machine. He's overloading my senses; they're blowing like fuses. Between him, my missing phone and the remnants of the drugs, my brain feels miswired and incapable of processing anything.

"Ignored you? You _betrayed_ me!" I spit furiously, clawing at the floor.

"Jurei..." The heartbroken sound of his voice sobers me. "I would never, _ever_ betray you..." His fingers draw gently through my hair. My brow relaxes at long last, numb. "I'm already in line to become the don. I just thought... If you were to become okashira then..."

"I don't think the solution to our problem will be so simple," I say quietly. Massimo releases my arm and holds my hips instead. Wincing, I draw myself up on my hands and knees to better support myself but he's already eased up. The painfully strong sensations dull into a pleasant warmth that rocks me gently to a second climax. Massimo finishes inside, panting softly.

"So what do you want me to do?" he asks between breaths.  

"Call off your hitman."

His answer is cut off by the sound of gunshots. Massimo throws himself over me, shielding me. I gasp out, "Max!" but the sound is lost in the pandemonium. The patrons locked in carnal embrace only moments ago, whispering drippy, syrupy things to each other, are now literally stepping on and clawing at each other to haul themselves out of the pit. Funny how that works.

"Dammit," Massimo curses, "We're too late!"

"No we're not!" But I'm having a hard time convincing myself when we hear more gunfire whizzing around the casino. Stratos has devolved into utter chaos. Scantily clad women run screaming between the machines, cowering in any nook and cranny they can fit their comically pumped up boob jobs into. The exit is clogged with people. And I still can't find the shooters.

A black rectangle on the floor catches my attention: my phone!

"I have to get you out of here!" Massimo is pulling on my arm but I break free, diving towards the precious device. A fleeing foot kicks it further away a split second before I grab it. Bullets whiz over my head. _Dammit_ . I drop into a military crawl on my forearms, so low that I'm almost sliding on the floor as I make my way through the crowd. More than one person trips over me. _Got it!_ Eyes alight, I reach for it until a black boot lands on my phone. Lifting my gaze slowly, I see a hitman dressed in all black with a rifle directed at my face.

"Hello..." I smile awkwardly.

"Hey buddy." A voice somewhere over my head makes the hitman look up. Massimo cold-cocks him across the face with shattering force, sending the assassin sprawling. "Are you okay?" Massimo demands as he helps me to my feet. I see the golden glint of brass knuckles adorning his fists.

"You got him!" I feel a wave of relief wash over me.

"Yeah, just one problem." He scratches his head sheepishly. Problems. I don't enjoy problems, especially unforseen ones. "I kinda hired his entire clan..."

"You hired a _clan_ of assassins?"

"You have to be thorough when you're killing yakuza..." I cast my gaze heavenwards.

"You'd better hope one of them gets me before I end up strangling you." I turn my attention to something more productive. What my bots show me makes my blood run cold.

I quickly identify the assassins: silhouettes in all black, like phantoms hiding in the corners of the screens. What makes my heart pound is the fact that they are closing in on my family. Grandfather at his poker table. Keiichi and my father crouched behind an overturned table, exchanging fire with an assassin. Yosuke hiding by the bar as assassins creep closer. I can't get to all of them at once!

" _Fuck!_ " I curse. Massimo joins me to look at my phone.

"Fuck," he agrees.

"Call them off!"

"I can't!" Massimo exclaims, "What do you think it's going to look like to my father if I call off an active assassination attempt?"

"Like you changed your mind?"

"Like I'm fucking the okashira's son," he says, stony.

"I don't care, I don't care, I don't care!" I pound my fists on his chest, desperate and frazzled. His strong hands latch firmly around my wrists.

"Yes you do." He's right... Of course he's right. My heart is pounding as I dig my fingers in my disheveled violet hair. _Get it together, Jurei._ Suddenly, Massimo blocks my view, directly in front of me. His presence is warm; I stare at his strong, broad chest. Then he tilts my chin up on a finger to look me in the eyes.

"But I'm always here for you, mio coniglietto." I picked up enough Italian to understand when he calls me his 'bunny'. Stupid, sweet nothings so why does it work on me so well? Me, Jurei Akira, whose religion is cold-cut logic and numbers that never lie. My eyes flutter shut as Massimo lifts my rabbit mask to capture my lips. I slide my arms around his neck, passionately deepening the kiss. But he... He makes me want to sin...

We part reluctantly. Massimo searches my eyes.

"So. It looks like you're going to have to choose."

" _Don't_ give me ultimatums." My brow furrows. He smirks at my indignant expression.

"I meant your family."

"Oh." My face grows hot, then cold again when I realize that he's right. Jiji. Yosuke. Father. Or Keiichi.

  



	4. Playing with a Loaded Deck

Assassins dressed in all black melt from the shadows into the yellow halo of light around the poker table, like a circle of reapers here to take these old sinners to the afterlife. A gloved hand lands on the back of Jiji's wheelchair. He sighs, stretching his bones. Lays his cards down on the table.

"Unless you've brought drinks, I don't believe I sent for you," he says.

"Tatsuo Akira, you're coming with me, " the assassin says coldly, "The rest of you geezers should get out of here."   

"Now children, you know it's rude to interrupt the grown-ups."

"I _hate_ being interrupted," the man across the table says in a voice made gravelly by smoke. He takes a long puff of his cigar. Through an exhaled ring of smoke, I see the face of the mafia's retired patriarch: Socca D'Oro. His hair faded from gold to silver and pulled well away from the top of his lumpy potato-like head. Apparently, the ex-don and ex-okashira play cards together.

"Get up." The assassin behind Socca raps his rifle against the side of the chair.

"Alright, alright, don't get your panties bunched up..." Socca finds his cane and braces it against the floor, trembling on failing legs.

"Move it along, old timer!" the assassin demands impatiently.

"Now that's no way to speak to your elders." Jiji and Socca exchange glances. In an instant, a flash of silver shoots from Jiji's sleeve. The assassin staggers backward, blood gushing between the fingers of his hand held to his throat. He crashes to the floor. A thin but razor sharp metal playing card is lodged in his trachea, splattered red. Meanwhile, Socca lifts his cane. There's a shotgun barrel within it; he fires.

The assassin who once stood behind Jiji simply doesn't have a face anymore. As the body hits the floor, the other men around the table leap into action. A wickedly sharp machete spins through the air and I hear semi-automatic fire. In seconds, the poker table and its players are bathed in blood and dead assassins lie scattered on the floor.

"Fuck!" One of the players fingers his dress shirt. "These stains will never come out."

"My back," another one groans as he bends backward. An old man paws around on the floor with a wrinkled hand over one eye.

"Has anyone seen my eye?" he asks in exasperation. Jiji looks down as something clacks against the wheel of his wheelchair.

"Mitsuketa!" He declares and rolls the eye to him over the table.

"Ah," The owner cleans off some blood with the sleeve of his expensive suit and pops it back into its socket, blinking a few times to set it correctly. The old crime lords finally notice Massimo and I standing, shocked, a short distance away.

"I think you picked wrong; he can clearly look after himself," Massimo whispers to me.

"It's your useless gay grandson," Socca says grumpily. He trails off when he notices Massimo. He may not be the most doting grandfather in Clear, but there's no way he doesn't recognize his own grandson under that flimsy fox mask. " _Our_ useless gay grandsons." He corrects himself. Jiji looks at me curiously for a second but goes on as if he didn't even notice,

"Jun-Jun, are you okay? You're not hurt?" His voice is heavy with concern.

"I'm fine, Jiji." I rush to his side. "Let's get you out of here." Meanwhile, Massimo is ushering his grandfather away from the poker table.

"Don't rush me, _don't rush me!_ " Socca whacks his leg irritably with the shotgun cane. "I'm not going without Tatsuo!" My heart skips. Massimo looks at me, eyes wide under the mask.

"C-Coming." I stammer. Only when we catch up does the deep furrow in Socca's brow relax - but only by a little bit - as he looks down at my grandfather in the wheelchair.

"Didn't nick ya, did I?" His gruff tone softens. He feigns nonchalance, but the way he scours Jiji for signs of damage betrays his true feelings.

"Of course not. But you wouldn't have to worry if you went to your eye appointments like I told you to," Jiji nags him lightly, chuckling.

"Uffa!" Socca waves a hand dismissively and uses a handkerchief to rub a splotch of blood from Jiji's cheek as if polishing a precious family heirloom.

"We should keep moving," I remember myself all of a sudden. "Let's get you up to the helipad."

 

When you've been on top for so long, It's easy to forget how high you really are. I pause to take in the view from the helipad atop the daring spire of Stratos. The setting sun spilled prosecco and rose all over a plush, infinity carpet of clouds.

Socca and Jiji part reluctantly to board separate helicopters.

"Sit tight," I say as I ease my grandfather into the seat and strap him in meticulously. Then I test each one for structural integrity. "You'll be home in no time." Offering Jiji an unconvincing smile, I move as if to step out of the chamber, but a hand on my wrist stops me short.

"Be careful, Jun-Jun..." His gaze drifts to Massimo. "Be careful."

The elevator ride back down feels twice as long as the one on the way up, but perhaps that's the silence stretching it out. I'm intensely aware of Massimo's larger than life presence beside me, filling this metal box and suffocating me with silence: men like him are rarely silent.

"That was strange," I prompt.

"Oh my god, I know, right?" Massimo lets out an explosive gasp he had been holding in. "Do you think they're...?"

"I am struggling to reach a different conclusion," I mutter.

"Our grandfathers are _fucking!_ " he exclaims.

"I hardly think that's necessary to-"

"They're having old man sex..." he groans into his palms pressed to his face.

"How? They only have one good leg between them." My mouth twists.

"I don't want to end up like them." Massimo's eyes widen in realization. I shoot him a worried glance, waiting patiently for him to add to that: to qualify himself in some way, but he just stares straight ahead at the doors. Is he just waiting for them to open so he doesn't have to be stuck here with me until we're both old and not-so-cute anymore? That's just rich... I wait until we're almost at our floor to speak,

"I'm the one who has to worry about you turning into an ugly, grumpy old codger with a bum leg and a hairline that retreats faster than the French," almost too quickly for him to catch. Massimo sighs heavily and presses the emergency stop button before turning to me with his arms folded.

"Okay, _what?_ "

"Nothing." I turn my nose up and toss my hair.

"Fine then..." He goes to push it again and I gather my breath,

"I just think-"

"Oddio," he groans, dropping his arm.

"-you should be grateful that the Akira men age so well because at least you know what you see is what you're going to get." I gesture at all of _this_.

"Your grandfather has _two_ bum legs!" he argues.

"My grandfather has a spinal cord injury, yours has arthritis. Genetics. Ha! I win." I pump my fist into the air.

"What is this even about?" The elevator responds with a groan. I look up at the bright lights on the ceiling as they flicker ominously. I've spent enough time around machines to know that isn't a good sound. "What was tha- _aaah!_ " The floor drops out from underneath us. At least, that's what it feels like when the elevator falls like a stone down the shaft. I see Massimo's feet lift off the floor; his suit levitates around his body. Purple ribbons dance through the air as my hair floats in zero gravity. Massimo's astonished eyes meet mine.

"Jurei!" He breaststrokes through the air to get to me. We lock hands, fingers intertwined like a pair of astronauts hurtling to earth, and at the last moment, he wraps himself like a protective suit around me.

"No!" I gasp, cradled in his embrace. Falling feels so much like flying... Then you hit the ground.

The elevator jerks to an abrupt stop. I try to scream but even though Massimo absorbed most of the fall, the impact still knocks the breath from my lungs. Gasping for air, I stir on top of his chest.

"Max! Max, please..." I shake him weakly. His blinking is lethargic as he stares up at the ceiling without seeing. Capturing his face between my hands, I force him to focus on me. "Where does it hurt?"

"It's nothing," he says dismissively, but he's struggling to sit upright. "We didn't even fall that fa-" He cuts himself off with a cry of pain and his hand darts to clutch his side. Not good.

"I'm going to get you out of here..."

I take in our surroundings. The only light now is the emergency light glowing pale yellow overhead. "It looks like a power fluctuation... If the emergency brakes hadn't kicked in, your head would've been smashed open like an egg."

"There's a lovely mental picture, thank you," he grumbles.

"Come on, come on..." I push unresponsive buttons on the panel.

"Step aside." I don't step so much as get shoved to the side as Massimo gets to his feet. He sets his big paws to the place where the elevator doors meet and pries, grunting with the effort.

"That's never going to-" I have to silence myself or sound like a complete idiot as the doors slowly but surely come apart. His muscles bulge under his pricey suit, reminding me that just because he never had to work for it, doesn't mean he's a slouch. My face feels very warm; I swallow hard. Then he doubles over, gasping for breath. "Shit," he curses, because it was all for naught: a blank face of concrete stares back at us. We're caught between floors. A sliver of freedom taunts us from above.

"Help me up," I say. Massimo vaults me up to the gap. I take huge breaths of fresh air - well, fresh is an overstatement considering this is one of the hotel floors. It smells like stagnant air and decaying decadence.

Sitting on the edge, I reach down to help Massimo.

"Lift with your arms! You can do it," I say encouragingly.

"I'm sure I could if you stopped treating me like a bambino..." he mutters.

"Perhaps if I knew what that meant..." I smile slightly.

Massimo heaves, shoes scraping against the elevator wall. My smile fades when I see the lights in the elevator abruptly turn on.

"Max, the elevator-!" I yell. His eyes widen; it's moving again. I leap backward but not all of me follows. My leg is trapped in the space between the top of the elevator and the hotel floor - and the elevator is trying to go down without me! Pain lances my thigh; I shriek. Then I hear Massimo crying out and notice his arm is in the same predicament. In the sliver of elevator, I find his terrified golden eye.

"This is your fault!" he accuses, "If you hadn't decided to pick a fight-!"

" _Me?!_ You're the one who said-!" No, it's too painful and I'm in _plenty_ of pain as it is!

"Fuck! Jurei, sometimes you can be such a-!" the rest of that sentence comes out in incomprehensible Italian as he vents in a language that I can't even understand enough to be angry about. I'll try anyway.

"Oh yeah? Well, you're a-!" I launch a reverse tirade against him in Japanese until the hall is filled with the sounds of our mismatched bickering. Even the elevator is sick of our arguing: it's just decided to leave with or without our limbs attached. Another scream tears from my throat as the metal compresses us like a trash compactor.

"Jurei!" Agony makes Massimo change his tone. "Hey, I-I'm sorry I called you a bitch! I didn't mean it..."

"You called me a bitch?" I pant, tugging weakly at the elevator as if I might be able to lift it with my noodle arms.

"Several times..." he mutters.

"I'm sorry I called you ugly and grumpy..." I moan.

"You called my _grandfather_ ugly and grumpy."

"Well, I'm sorry about that too." I look away to mutter under my breath, "Not sorry."  

"Really?" He slaps his palm against the carpet. "You really want your last words to be _petty?_ " The outer doors begin to close, just to add insult to injury. I push against them, trembling.

"These things are _death traps!_ "

"Umm, Jurei-" Massimo's eyes widen. What _now?_ I follow his gaze over my shoulder to a huge shape looming behind me.

"I've got you, Jurei-sama," Kenta's calm voice seeps into my panicked mainframe. The big man shoves open the doors effortlessly, slamming them back into place so hard he may have broken the hardware. I can't believe it as the hitman wedges both hands into the gap and lifts the entire goddamn elevator. I scoot backward quickly as Massimo staggers from the car, bewildered. Once we're safe, Kenta lets it plunge into the darkness below. If he recognizes the don's son, he says nothing of it, reporting instead, "I came as fast as I could." I lean on Massimo for support, light on my injured leg.

"Have you been able to locate Keiichi?"

"On the casino floor. I'm afraid he's been captured."

"Well, he's screwed." Massimo whistles. "But it's okay, you have another brother, right?" I shoot him a nasty look.

"He's not _screwed_... He isn't, because I have a plan."

 

###

 

High-pitched, feminine screaming fills the air. An assassin muscles a pair of girls toward the orgy pit. They look like such tiny things in his arms. Teenagers, probably.

"Let go of me!" One of them is a picture of spirit, her fiery red hair flickering as she struggles against her captor. The other one is oddly silent, head hanging low. She limps along with a tattered skirt.  

"Shut the fuck up before I shut you up!" He shakes the redhead vigorously before tossing them into the pit with the others. An older woman gathers them close, whispering soothing things to calm them both down. A little too old: we should really refresh the stock around here...

"You _lost_ Raijin? How could you lose our primary target?!" The head assassin looks furiously up and down the line of his subordinates. None of them meet his eyes. "You couldn't even finish off the old man... Pathetic!" he spits. He turns around to the prisoner kneeling on the floor before the pit, hands cuffed behind his back. "No matter... We have _him._ " Keiichi lifts his chin, undaunted.

"Tell me where your father is." The head assassin demands.

"I don't think so." There's a brazen defiance in Keiichi's eyes that really shouldn't be there considering he is unarmed, with his back to a sex cesspool.

"Now listen here..." The assassin presses the muzzle of his pistol into Keiichi's chest.

"I didn't expect this from you, Yanxing." Keiichi lowers his voice. "You've done good work for the yakuza for years. Don't you have a policy against assassinating your clients? It's just good business sense."

" _Staying alive_ is good business sense," the assassin hisses, "They didn't give me a choice. We were either with them or against them and I preferred to be on the winning side."

"They're the winning side now?" Keiichi snorts.  
"Victor always draws first blood." Yanxing changes tack and levels his rifle with the women in the pit. As it turns out, there is nothing quite as shrill as a pit full of women screaming for their lives. "How much money is in that pit, Keiichi? Couple million? You're about to make a loss." _Nobody_ makes a loss if I have something to say about it. All the lights abruptly go out.

"What the hell is going on here?!" Yanxing demands.

He gets his answer when the door is kicked down. Automatic gunfire fills the air. Stumbling backward, one of the assassins screams at the top of his lungs.

"K-K-Kaonashi no Kenta! _Run!_ " They scatter before the hulking form of Kenta in the doorway wielding a pair of assault rifles strapped over each shoulder. Yanxing takes one look at the giant illuminated only by a ghostly green night vision visor, before cursing aloud and following his subordinates. They have nowhere to go but between the slot machines while Kenta picks off stragglers. A fire lights in Keiichi's eyes, sensing the changing of the tides. As soon as Kenta snaps his cuffs, he moves as if to give chase but Kenta grabs his arm.

"We have to go, Keiichi-sama," he says calmly.

"I'm going after Yanxing." Keiichi tugs like a child. His phone buzzes abruptly. He pauses incredulously and then picks up.

"Listen to Kenta," I say. 

"Jurei," he says my name like a curse, looking around. "This is your doing... Where are you, anyway?" It's pointless: he won't find me but I can see him on one of the surveillance screens in the casino's security room.

"That's not important," I reply.

"This is a matter of honor - something you have no concept of." I roll my eyes slightly at the jab. Then he says to Kenta, "You can either come with me or go home." He made him an offer he can't refuse... Loyal to a fault, the big hitman follows my brother on his moronic quest.

Massimo waits with his back pressed against the wall, hidden by a ficus as my brother and Kenta sprint past him. Once they're gone, he swings around the corner and urges the terrified women out of the pit.

"Come on, we gotta go!" He helps them up. I know we have to rescue them - those are some of our finest products after all - but does he really have to _touch_ them so much... Annoyed, I redirect my attention to Keiichi stalking Yanxing through the dark maze of the casino: a true Theseus and the Minotaur, except the minotaurs wield semi-automatic assault rifles... The only twine he has to find his way with is me, and when you're playing with mazes, it's always better to have a bird's eye view.

"You've got trouble coming up on your right." They duck behind a slot machine just in time to dodge a hail of gunfire. Keiichi pokes his rifle around the corner to respond with gunfire of his own.

"Magazine." He holds a hand out to Kenta, who reaches to his belt. He freezes. "What's the matter?" Keiichi demands. His eyes widen in realization. "You didn't bring ammo?!"

"I was in a hurry to get here," says Kenta. Keiichi curses. He takes Kenta's other rifle. "That's all the ammo we have," the hitman reminds him.

"One bullet is all I need." He waits for a lull in the gunfire before dashing out from behind the machine.

"Keiichi-" Kenta isn't fast enough to stop him. His strategy relies entirely on the trained assassins being terrible shots, ducking as bullets ricochet from the machines. Another assassin moves to flank them.

"Watch out!" I shout. I make the game wheel behind the assailant light up like Christmas Day, to give away his position. No rifle, no problem. Kenta picks up a game machine with a roar. The next thing the assassin knows, a slot machine is flying straight at him.

Meanwhile, a beacon of snow white hair highlighted in red dashes through the darkness like a shot: Yanxing. I listen in to his intercepted radio frequency.

"Someone got into the control room! Deal with them!" Then he shoves the hand radio angrily back into his pocket. He may not be as dumb as I thought, but you still have to be some kind of brazen to cross the Akira family... I see a pair of men clad in black making their way towards the control room. My hand flies to my gun. They're coming.

I step away from the casino's surveillance screens just in time as the door is kicked open. Hidden in the shadow of the swinging door, I watch an assassin rush straight for the swivel chair and spin it around. Empty.

"Looking for me?" Two gunshots: one to the upper spine and another to the back of the head. The assassin falls facedown on the seat spewing blood. He's on his way to the next life - oh, there's his partner. I push sharply against the wood with my back, slamming the second assailant's fingers in the door. When he recoils, screaming, I close and lock it. I can't let them take this room; it's too important, nor can I hold this position forever. Time to slash and burn. I pepper the screens with bullets, rendering them useless.

Offloading the dead assassin, I swing myself into the swivel chair and hastily reload gun, keenly aware of the pounding on the door. It will cave in three, two, one- The door comes down as I rush the doorway with the swivel chair in the very same moment. It takes him down to the opposite wall, giving me enough time to hop off the chair and sprint down the corridor.

"Hey!" the assassin shouts, struggling out from under it. _Don't look back!_ I hammer the bright red lockdown button in the hall. Thick metal doors are sliding down and I had better be on the right side of them when they do. Gunshots in my wake are an excellent bit of motivation. I drop into a slide, whispering through the closing slot without a moment to spare. A dull thud from the other side tells me my pursuer wasn't quite fast enough.

The arm that locks around my throat is. Yanxing tightens his hold on me even though I don't struggle. The warmth of a recently-used pistol is pressed into my hair.

"Well if it isn't my favorite member of the Akira family." I can hear his lips curling into a triumphant smile.

"Long time no see," I comment.

"You're coming with me."

Keiichi whips around at our arrival, ready to mow Yanxing into a shallow grave, but he lowers his weapon when he sees me. I suppose I should be grateful for that...

"Let him go, Yanxing, he's not who you're here for."

"For once we agree on something. I'm here for _you._ Drop your weapon."

"Keiichi," Kenta interjects from behind him but my brother does it anyway. The rifle hits the floor.

"Yakuza brotherhood," There's a premature victory in Yanxing's tone. "It will be the end of you." Unless it saves him first. I slip a hand silently into my pocket where I grip a tiny handle and lace a finger through the trigger. The moment I feel his gun move to point at my brother, I spin around and shove the aether gun up his nose.

" _Relax_ , Yanxing." I grin at his shocked expression before squeezing the trigger.

He inhales sharply as he steps back out of range but he's only spreading the drug further into his sinuses, faster into his bloodstream where it dissolves into laughter. He stumbles this way and that, giggling, before collapsing in a softly shaking pile like gelatin.  

"It is done," I hiss, hurling the gun down to the tiles. I'm sick of that thing. "You should escort him back to the Pagoda... Yosuke will want to arrange a _session_."

"And where do you think you're going?" Keiichi demands, still so grumpy after I saved his life.

"I'm sure you have plenty to say to me, but let's postpone the lecture, shall we?" I brush right past him. "I have business to attend to." Last I saw Massimo, he was evacuating women via the stairs. I catch sight of a dark shape moving through the casino in a much bigger hurry than me. _An assassin_ , I reason, probably an inexperienced new hire who has just found himself in hot water. He's making a break for freedom towards the stairwell. The door opens at the same moment that he reaches it, revealing a surprised Massimo. The assassin reacts with pure instinct.

"No!" I shout but it's drowned out by a gunshot. I'm sprinting as Massimo crumples against the door, a hand pressed to his side. His attacker is gone: he flew down the stairs like a shadow fleeing light.

"Jurei?" Massimo looks up at me with wide-eyes, breathing hard. Blood spills between his fingers clutched to his injury. He's in shock.

"Let me see-!" I peel them back and the sight makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. It's bad. "Put pressure on it," I instruct, "Get on your feet... Get up!" I hoist his arm over my shoulder, egging him into a standing position. It's the only way I can think straight in a crisis: give instructions, cause things to happen. Focus on things I can _control._ I can't control his bleeding, but I can get him down these stairs. I can get him help!

The elevator's out, which means... I cast a despairing glance over the railing down into the depths of the stairwell.

"You just have to make it down these stairs," I say in a tone that might suggest a brisk morning jog, not a grueling descent down what seems like a hundred flights of stairs with a bullet wound. Massimo leans on me heavily, groaning in pain. I almost crumble under the weight but I steel myself and my trembling legs. They say relationships are not always a 50-50 effort. I am certainly feeling every bit of the extra 40.  

 _Rain._ It's raining in sheets that make this disgusting city both soggy _and_ disgusting. We burst through the back door together at long last, but even the tiny victory is short-lived. Police sirens. Of course. All the commotion was catnip for the Clear Police Department. They must not find us. Turning away from the flashing lights projected on the wall, I lead Massimo around the back of the building, but it gets harder all the time. Massimo left his strength in droplets of blood that now dot the stairs. His weight is becoming too much to bear.

My rain-soaked clothes clamp down on me like a frigid casket. So quickly we went from being on top of the world, above the clouds, to nobodies getting rained on in a slush-filled alley... Red blossoms into the puddles on the street. And it just keeps _coming_. He's going to bleed out. He will bleed out right here _in my arms_.

A strangled noise fights its way out of my throat. I rein myself in enough to say,

"We're almost there; stay with me." He murmurs an unintelligible response; who knows if he heard me. I don't know where to go from here. The nearest hospital is miles away. A yakuza car is just a press of a button away, but any yakuza member worth his tattoos would recognize Massimo in a heartbeat...

We've scarcely emerged from the alley when a police car pulls to a sharp stop on the street in front of us.

"No," I gasp.

Damon emerges from the car, quelling my nerves - but only slightly. Then I register the furious look in his eyes.

"You're under arrest." Before I can argue, he wrenches me forward and twists me around. My chest hits the metal of the car - hard.

"What is the meaning of this?!" I demand.

"You're in big trouble, _Rei_." A nickname from another life. It makes me squirm against his cuffs.

"Don't you dare call me that..."

"Get in the fucking car!" He shoves me into the backseat.

"Max!" I cry out for rescue, even though he's the one who needs rescuing. Without my support, Massimo collapsed on the street, just lying there in the rain. I have to worry about myself when Damon gets into the backseat with me and slams the door shut behind him.  

Here's where I start to panic: when the cop sizes me up with those ravenous, dark eyes.

"No one can hear you," he mutters. A touch: so familiar and so horrible. It makes my skin rise in revulsion of him. Then he is undoing buttons on my shirt.

"Get your filthy hands off me!" I kick away from him, pressed up against the opposite window.

"Is that any way to talk to the only man in Clear who can save your boyfriend's life?" Damon gives me pause long enough for him to grip my ankle and tug me sharply back under him. A tiny scream escapes my throat. "Fuck me and maybe I'll help you," he taunts. I fall silent. He has my chest exposed and heaving against the frigid air - like one of those filthy hookers he arrests by the side of the street just so he can lay them out naked on his back seat.

Damon pauses to pull off his shirt, up and over his head in a fluid motion, freeing up a rigorously trained body. I let my gaze wander his chiseled angles. An amused light dances in his dark eyes when I meet them again. I don't want to see... But squeezing my eyes shut only magnifies the sensation of his rugged hands traveling over my body. He slides all the way down to my pants. I hear the rustling and stare up at the grey ceiling. That didn't work. So I try something else.

"Please let me go." Fake tears roll over my cheeks. "I have to get him to a hospital; he's hurt."

"And whose fault is that?" he muses. "Don't think I haven't heard the news. A _war?_ What the fuck are you empty-skulled yakuza playing at? I am not letting you fight a war in my city - in my _father's_ city."

"Only because you haven't figured out a way to profit from it yet," I breathe.

"You always were the smart one." I respond with a shriek when he thrusts. _Dirty._ I feel violated by his presence and I can't get it out so I scream again instead. "Quiet!" He stifles me with a hand; I buck against him. His dark shadow consumes my vision the way his thrusts consume my thoughts. _Massimo is dying._ A desperate one bubbles to the surface before he shatters it with a cruel hilting. A panicked noise slips between his fingers held over my mouth.

"You're hurting him." We have an audience. Turning slowly, I peer through the barred partition. It's no wonder I didn't notice him straightaway: he quickly turns around and shrinks into the seat to hide himself again, but I catch a glimpse of his black waves of hair and red highlight. The stripper from Seraph Manor. Laughter rises in my throat, unbidden. I can't hold it in. Damon draws back, glaring at me.

"A _stripper?_ You rebounded so hard..." I shake my head with mirth. "So he's the one who told you about the war. I should break your fingers for that, _rat,_ " I spit that last part at the shuddering slut in the front seat. I turn back to Damon, "He's definitely cheating on you, you know. It's his job."

"You wouldn't know loyalty if it hit you in the face."

I sober up. "It did. A few times." Damon lifts a hand and I flinch away on instinct. The blow doesn't come; I open my eyes cautiously to see him smiling, amused.

"And what are you going to do about it? Call the police?" He's found the bruised ring of skin at my thigh, where the elevator clamped down and grabs it, squeezing just to wrench a scream out of me. Damon was always smart in his cruelty, constantly seeking weaknesses of the body, of the mind to exploit. His body slides against mine, folding my trembling leg for better access as he picks up the pace again. "I'm doing you a favor," he whispers heatedly in my ear, "He's just going to become a liability. I thought you hated those." I tilt my head back and watch the rain pelt the window, silent save for soft panting. It's so... It's so _warm_ in here.

"Jurei..." I hear him moaning my name as he buries his face in my chest, running a hand down the smoothness of my back. Slipping my cuffs, I stroke his rough black peaks of hair, coaxing a climax out of him. I shudder against the warmth and wetness, which is somehow worse than the cold and wetness outside. I cast a glance to the stripper, where I already knew he would be peeking around the corner of his seat. A blue eye widens and he quickly spins back around. Maybe he's wondering why his sociopath boyfriend would downgrade from someone like me to someone like _him_.

As Damon steps back out of the car, I draw myself up against the window to catch my breath, wincing at the soreness. I did as he asked - _demanded_ \- but even that is a gamble with him. It looks like I had the luck of the dice this time around. Damon returns dragging Massimo like an inconvenient sack of flour and shoves him into the seat with me.

"Max!" I wrap my arms around the soaking wet, unconscious mafioso. Damon reappears in the driver's seat.

"Hey, it's our first double date," he jokes. I glare at him through the rearview mirror.

"Take us to the Repopulation Society. There's a hospital there." Nobody would question a board member: they wouldn't _dare._

 

###

 

Crumpled in a chair, my purple hair dangles between my knees as I stare at the hospital tile. I breathe slowly: in and out. In and out, keeping time with the steady beat of the heart monitor. When I hear the sheets rustle, I lift my head.

"Jurei," Massimo groans, struggling to rise.

"Take it easy." I rush to his side. "You lost a lot of blood." I pad him with pillows as he eases into a sitting position. He touches his side instinctively, finding gauze and bandages where a bullet hole used to be.

"Are you okay? If those idiot assassins touched a hair on your head..." That fire is back already as he growls. Massimo holds my face in his hand. I lean into it for only a moment before pulling back. "Jurei?"

"We need to talk. About us."

"We're doing this right now?" He tries to laugh it off. "Hi, Massimo D'Oro here, GSW to the liver," he reminds me.

"After what happened today, I'm not sure we can stave off further conflict," I say coldly, "It was... It was a fun ride while it lasted, but the fun part is over now. This is the hard part. The _dangerous_ one. I know you don't want us to end up like..." I take a deep breath as my mind wanders to Jiji and Socca's doomed relationship. Shaking my head, I center myself again. "So this is your stop." But I can't stop the tears from falling, on damage control as I wipe my face rapidly.

The silence is deafening. Massimo stares at the ridge of his feet under the hospital sheet. He says at last,

"Jurei... When I said I don't want to end up like them, I meant I can't stand the thought of us being apart because of some stupid, hundred-year-old family feud..." My heart flutters at his words. "Forty years from now, I don't want to be sneaking out of casino hotels in the middle of the night, I want to be waking up in our bed next to you."

"You-" I try to speak, but my voice is choked with emotion. He takes my hand - it feels so warm in the safe shell of his.

"I'm not picking sides. I'm picking _you._ "

"Max!" I leap onto the hospital bed on top of him. His broad chest welcomes me like a cushion.

"Ow," he laughs, but he doesn't stop me, slipping his fingers between mine as I lean in for a passionate kiss. Golden eyes flash playfully, watching me slide down to put my mouth in his lap. He sinks into the pillows and moans. A hand tangles in my hair while I wash out the taste of someone else.

 

###

 

"There you are." Keiichi straightens up from his position leaning against the wall.

"Yanxing?" I glance at the stern grey door to the interrogation room.

"That's not important." My big brother looks furious. What else is new? "Your carelessness nearly got us all killed today! I am not going to put this family in danger so you can have quickies with the don's son!" Small minds can only comprehend small pictures. Doesn't anyone in this house ever take a step back? Before I can respond, the door opens. Yosuke emerges wearing a butcher's apron and holding a pair of bloody pliers.

"He won't talk." He shrugs, tossing the pliers carelessly on a foyer table. I shudder at the sight of a whole, extracted fingernail caught between its cruel jaws. I can't argue with his methods, but I prefer not to have to witness them.

"Get back in there and try harder!" Keiichi yells at him, "You didn't push him far enough." Yosuke holds up a hand.

"Look Kei, what I do is an _art._ And art can be bold, it can even be shocking. But never gratuitous: that's just tacky." He peels off a dirty glove with a snap of latex. "If I say he isn't talking, he isn't talking." But he turns to me and smiles. "He said he'd talk to you though, Otouto." My skin crawls a little at the thought of going in there.

"Must I?"

"A little blood never hurt anyone. Unless it was coming out of them." Yosuke flashes me a grin. If you ask me, interrogators have no reason to be that smiley...

Yanxing looks up into the sliver of light as the door opens. It takes a while for my eyes to adjust, and then I regret it. I plaster a smile on my face anyway.

"Yanxing, it's been a while." I walk up to the man cuffed to the chair, aware of Keiichi following me in. He takes a spot in an inconspicuous but nearby corner.  

"Too long." Yanxing grins up at me.

"Why did you do it?" I pout my lower lip at him, drawing a pair of fingers over the bridge of his sharp collarbone.

"What's a humble assassin to do when his two biggest employers decide to go to war?" He laughs but it comes out as a cough. A trickle of blood escapes the corner of his lips. I wonder if torture is an art so much as it is calculated brutality. An imprecise science, like pain, like seduction. Gripping the back of his chair, I try not to look too closely at the gruesome remains of Yanxing's hand as I lower myself into his lap with sultry sways of my hips. Linking my arms around his neck, I focus on his face instead. The assassin was intent as he watched my movements, now grinning at me sleazily.

"Surely, you know what they're planning next?" I pry.

"I might sell them for a kiss." His orange eyes flash, hungry. Smiling flirtatiously, I lean in and take his lips.

I can sense Keiichi's judgemental gaze and open my eyes midway through the makeout to glare at him. When I pull back, I'm all smiles again. The assassin growls lustfully.

"Your aether routes," he says. "Word gets around among hired guns: the don wants to break them down. He has his eye on your routes south of Harm's Way." Yanxing overflows like he's hoping it might get him a little something extra. "And here's something that should interest you... He's been hoarding aether blue for weeks now."

"What? Why?" My mouth twists with confusion. Yanxing looks disappointed when I get up, tagging out with Keiichi. My brother is more direct as he slams his hands down on the armrests, looking Yanxing in the eye.

"What is he doing with all that product? Reselling it?"

"I'm a hitman, not an economist," Yanxing shakes his head irritably at my brother. "I don't know."

"Well you'd better find out. You're going back to the don, but this time, you work for us."

"Whatever you say, Boss." Yanxing grins. I sigh inaudibly. The sound of a gunshot makes Keiichi leap backward. Yanxing's head lolls forward; there's brain matter in front of the chair. He never saw it coming from behind: a small mercy, I suppose. I lower my Glock.

"What the fuck, Jurei?!" Keiichi demands angrily.

"He betrayed the don at the drop of a hat," I say calmly. "He would've done the same to you."

"Don't talk to me about betrayal..."

"I haven't betrayed you!" I cut him off. "You're so obsessed with loyalty that you can't see Massimo as an _asset_."

"And you're one of theirs." He folds his arms, unconvinced.

"If you truly believe _I'm_ the problem here, then this is just going to keep happening until we're all wearing cement shoes at the bottom of Siren's Bay." I jab a finger into his chest. "You want to wage war? Well, you've got one now. That was just the first battle: you were there, you were prepared, you were on home turf. But when the moment came, you _choked._ " Doubt finally flickers on my endlessly confident brother's face. "You need me."

"If his majesty is willing to lift a finger," Keiichi snorts sarcastically.

"I will help you depose Don Lazarre," I say simply. Because I've already run the scenarios: a step Massimo skipped when he came up with his half-assed 'plan', if you even want to call it that. He would have to get through Okashira Raijin, Keiichi and Yosuke just to strongarm power into my hands. Being a vastly less popular leader than they, with my reputation and blank skin, there's no way my legitimacy would go unchallenged. Revolt. A coup, which would probably end with me dead. No, that was no way to guarantee a satisfactory outcome. But the mafia on the other hand... Removing Don Lazarre would shift leadership directly to Massimo. He is already their golden boy, it would be a natural, single-stage succession. It just makes sense.

"But if you touch a hair on Massimo's head..." I don't have to finish my threat.  

"Fine," Keiichi says, "Good to have you on board." But he isn't smiling when he says it. I casually wipe my bloodied pistol on his lapel.

"So does this mean I've earned my tattoos?" He does smile at _that_ , grinning wide.

"Depose Don Lazarre, and I'll make sure you wear the finest irezumi in the Akira clan. That shouldn't be too hard for a _genius_ , right?" He lets out a bark of laughter and leaves the interrogation room. I glare at his back as he goes. _Some_ people can get their tattoos by spraying bullets in the general direction of a police officer. I, on the other hand, have to dismantle an entire criminal empire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life hack: Don't go on double dates with your ex. Just... Don't do that.


	5. Burning Red

"I hear Halo-Halo Island is nice this time of year," I say as I wind my long purple hair into the shape of a bun.

Massimo's full-bodied, charming laugh comes from the laptop. On the video call screen, he lifts a mug of coffee to his lips. From the waist down, a maroon blanket obscures his form. _"Yeah, I'll just tell my father I'm going on a tropical vacation in the middle of a gang war..."_

"Just promise me you'll keep out of trouble, would you?"

 _"Not much else I can do."_ He rolls those golden eyes like a bored lion. _"The doctors were pretty clear about that. Bed rest and bland foods only."_

"You were _shot_ ; you should be glad you're even alive."

_"Jurei, coniglietto, I'm ITALIAN; this isn't living, it's dying in slow motion."_

"If I cut you, would you bleed marinara or puttanesca?"

" _Arrabiata, definitely,"_ he groans, _"But not today. Today I'd just ooze oatmeal."_ I can't help but smile. The worries he occupies his mind with are all so quaint, but I suppose that's what makes him relaxing to talk to. _Grounding_. On Planet Massimo, the sky isn't constantly falling on everyone's heads: sometimes he just has a cracked phone screen and I get to listen to him talk about it for a half hour before delving back into spreadsheets of aether blue accounting and the endless money laundering schemes it tends to spawn.

The can of hairspray makes a clattering noise as I shake it. Finishing puffs of spray hang around my head like clouds, depressing stray hairs back into line with the rest. "Take care of yourself and listen to your doctors. I have to go."

 _"Yeah, yeah, I know..."_  I cringe inwardly: we sound like our grandfathers. _"You're leaving already? If the bullet doesn't kill me, this boredom will..."_

"I have a meeting with the lieutenants. Believe me, I'd rather be talking to you." The reminder makes my mouth twist with annoyance in the mirror.

 _"I wish I could go to a lieutenant meeting."_ A pause. _"Okay, that was a lie; I hate those guys. 'You're not paying us enough', 'We do all the REAL work around here', 'We want benefits',"_ Massimo mimics in a mocking tone. _"Eh? Scusa? You're a gangster, your retirement plan is a bullet in your head!"_ I smile at him.

"That gives me a roleplay idea." I jut my lower lip out and bat my lashes. "Are you going to punish your naughty lieutenant for unionizing, Massimo?"

 _"DON. You mean Don Massimo."_ He growls, _"Now there's a union I can get behind..."_

"Don Massimo..." I purr. It sounds so good... Little does he know, I'll be making his fantasy a reality soon enough. I remember abruptly, "Oh, the meeting! I _really_ must go." Gripping the side of the laptop, I blow him a quick kiss. He pretends to catch it and tucks it in his breast pocket in the corniest way imaginable. I laugh - an actual, unrestrained laugh - and he smiles because he got what he was after.

 _"Ciao, bello."_ I snap the laptop closed, thinking to myself, _Today is a big day._ Ironically enough, Massimo's injuries will keep him safe.

The meeting is already underway by the time I get there, judging from the raised voices coming from inside and emphatically gesturing silhouettes cast on the shoji. Fortunately for me, that makes it easy to slip inside unnoticed. The first thing I notice is the lieutenants - a dozen of them or so - and to say they do not look pleased would be an understatement.

"Your war is bad for business!" One of them is saying, "The police are all on edge!"

"The mafia lifted a two months' supply of blue from a yakuza drop point; my ledgers will be in the red for months."    

"They beat the hell out of my runners; I can't even get my men on the streets anymore." A salvo of complaints batters the stone-faced defense of the yakuza family seated at the other half of the table. Otou-san is at the head of the table, eyes closed, whether to better absorb the concerns or block them out completely is a mystery. At his right hand are Keiichi and Yosuke, at his left, my grandfather.

"Ohayou." Yosuke smiles at me, his almond eyes bright, as I fold into the cushion next to him.

"What did I miss?" I ask.

"Nothing we didn't already know."

"But why did you miss it?" Keiichi is never satisfied.

When Father opens his eyes at last, his inky gaze lands on the man directly across the long table to him: Ozymandias, or Oz, as the other lieutenants like to call him. 'The man behind the curtain', he is a leader among lieutenants. Oz's frame is slender but strong, built like a durable length of braided rope. His skin is the golden-brown of Egyptian sand. He has been dealing aether blue for the family for so long now that azure permanently stains his fingers and the ends of a long mohawk, flipped to frame his face in bleached-bone white.

"What do you have to say about all this, Oz?" my father asks him.

Oz sinks into steepled fingers until only his shocking, iceberg eyes are visible over them.

"Tens of thousands in inventory and profits. Thousands in damages. Potential millions in legal fees. Those are the numbers that matter to you, Okashira." His voice is perfectly level through his report. "Here are the numbers that matter to me: Four aether dealers and a lieutenant arrested, two of them non-bailable. Two men in the hospital after a mafia encounter. Three drug runners and one civilian shot dead in a drive-by." I straighten up uncomfortably and signal to a nearby servant for a glass of sake. Perhaps we should hire less sensitive lieutenants... Death is in the job description.

"All of that began before the war." Keiichi points out. "And the only way we can stop their attacks from becoming worse is by fighting back."

Oz raises his voice slightly. "We don't know what that future would have held. But we know this fighting _has_ made it worse."

"The divide between yakuza and mafia has festered for decades... If we are fighting an infection, then this is the fever... It will get ugly before it gets better."

"If the Akira family can't assure the safety of their associates, then maybe we'd rather run aether red for the mafia instead."

Keiichi is suddenly on his feet, demanding, "Are you suggesting treason?" Then so is Oz.

"If what you're suggesting is more of the same!" His pale blue eyes flash dangerously.

"Alright, that's enough!" Yosuke interjects, looking between them seriously until they both begrudgingly sit down at _exactly_ the same pace, neither wanting to give the impression that they relented first. And they call _me_ petty... Once he has both of them back from the ledge, Yosuke sets about repairing the bridge. He starts with a congenial smile.

"Keiichi, you forget whom you're speaking to. Ozymandias has served the Akira family faithfully for thirty years. By the way," He glances at the lieutenant. "Did you receive your anniversary gift? I picked it out myself." Oz allows Yosuke to smooth over the furrow in his brow with kind words and smiles.

"The family enjoyed it greatly. My kids have always wanted to ride in a convertible."

I choke on my sake: the thirty-year gift is a _convertible?_ At this rate, we might as well go straight and run a _real_ company; then we'd only have to give out watches!

"Send my love to Nazeem." Oh, what Yosuke could accomplish if he didn't waste precious brain capacity remembering each lieutenant's spouse by first name, kids by nickname and even their _dog's_ names. And yet, I've always been impressed by his ability to schmooze anyone and manipulate everyone, all with an unflappable smile on his face. And maybe a little... _Envious_ too. That is, until I encounter everyone and remember that I'd rather not be around anyone at all.

Yosuke turns back to Keiichi. "If Oz has concerns about recent events, he's more than earned the right to speak his mind. And he's not wrong: this conflict has been hard on our lieutenants." My eldest brother inhales deep and exhales in a sigh.

"You're right. Ozymandias, I can't promise that the fighting will blow over anytime soon. But my brother Jurei is working on restoring stability to your routes as we speak." I _what-_ this time I choke so hard that I start coughing, setting the glass down with a clatter. Yosuke pats me on the back sympathetically while Keiichi mutters, "One would think he'd have a better-trained gag reflex than that..." I lift my head angrily.

Meanwhile, Oz has been dissecting me with his sharp blue eyes. I tug down a sleeve to further cover my wrist when I realize what he's looking at, suddenly self-conscious.

"I've served this family long enough to pick up a few things. Sending a blank-skin to tackle a problem like this doesn't exactly fill me with confidence," he says. I glare into my glass so intensely that it might start to boil.

"My grandson is the right man for the job," Jiji speaks up at last, "I assure you, his lack of tattoos is purely incidental; he wears his irezumi on his _spirit_. If there is any yakuza that can sort out this mess, it's him." I catch the sideways glance that Father slips at him while Jiji gazes staunchly forward. Clearly, there have been disagreements about the war. But which of the two has been compromised? Jiji by association with Socca, or Otou-san by Keiichi's endless ambition? I bite my lip because the logical answer would force me to ask certain questions about my own relationship.

"We have a plan," I add to that, intentionally laconic. The other lieutenants don't look convinced as they turn to Oz for leadership. A small smirk tilts the white-haired lieutenant's lips; he looks directly at me and chuckles at the little boy who needed his grandfather to vouch for him.

"Very well," says Oz. He doesn't push the matter any further for now.

"Then it's settled," Yosuke wraps up. "In the meantime, we can pay you restitution to cover any lost profits and keep your operations running smoothly." Of course, he would make expensive promises like that without asking me. _Their_ ledgers, what about _our_ ledgers...

My father swoops in. He could have honestly been asleep the whole time and no one would have noticed. "My sons, I trust you will not disappoint us. Lieutenants, in the meantime, we invite you to cast aside your concerns for the rest of the afternoon and join us for entertainment and refreshments."  

As the men are lured from the room with the promise of food and drink, I approach Keiichi angrily.

"What did you tell them that for? I said I would help you depose the Don, not handle every mundane problem that happens to land in your lap!"

"Deposing the Don _will_ take care of every mundane problem we have. Who do you think is harassing our routes in the first place?" Keiichi looks down his sharp nose at me. "I hope you realize now that there are real people - real _lives_ \- at stake here. So where's your brilliant plan, Jurei?"

"I'm working on it; you have to give me longer than _one business day!_ " I say, exasperated, "You can't even get a new toaster delivered in that time!"  

"Guys! Guys..." Yosuke injects himself between us, slinging an arm around our shoulders and pulling us in close. "Jurei-chan is going to come up with a great plan! But he can't do it on an empty stomach..."

"You just want to eat, don't you?" Keiichi flashes our taller brother an irritated look.

"Can't it be both, onegaaaaiiii!" Yosuke pleads.

I know what brunch and a show means at the Pagoda. A booming, female voice comes from the courtyard:

"The Akira family welcomes its friends and allies to the Pagoda, home of our illustrious okashira and his beloved rainbow ladies." The courtyard is a rectangular patch of sun-baked dirt in the heart of the building, surrounded by elevated balconies for spectators. It's the perfect setting for a sparring match and, incidentally, the annual Akira Family Badminton Tournament... Presently, yakuza members and lieutenants cluster on the balconies, peering eagerly at the speaker: a woman standing in the courtyard.

Okina, Keiichi's mother and father's second wife, is a marvel all by herself. Her long, pinstripe straight hair is inky blue, partially mounted in a traditional updo and secured with a comb. The rest of the length hangs like a demure folding screen down her back. A titan of a woman, Okina towers over many of the men in the yakuza and she has the physique of a wrestler. I'm sure many in the clan have fantasized about having their head crushed between those thick thighs...

My father watches her closely from his seat on the upper balcony which looks more like a throne. On either side of him are less extravagant seats, one of which is reserved for Ozymandias, and the rest for us. Okina's hair flutters as she bangs a brass gong and then points the mallet at my father.

"Okashira! Your devoted wives made a vow to protect the clan. Let us show you the fruit of our training, so you may witness our family's strength." At her announcement, three more of his wives join her in the courtyard. I groan slightly, immediately uncomfortable when I notice one of today's challengers is my mother. Her violet hair is done up in a high ponytail tied with an ornate ribbon. A simple orange kimono hangs off one shoulder, revealing sarashi wound tight around her torso.  

"Okina-san." She bows respectfully. Okina inclines her head in acknowledgment.

"What's the word on the arms situation?" I ask Yosuke to distract myself. He lifts his head from stuffing his face with hors-d'oeuvres long enough to reply,

"Not good, the mafia has a stranglehold on all arms dealings in Clear."

Loud laughter from the courtyard. "So you've come back to lose again! This should be quick." A woman with short and wild curls of red hair takes her place beside Okina. Unlike Okina in her conservative, trailing kimono, she wears a halter-necked crop top and tight athletic shorts which show off her shredded body.

"Rinko." Okina admonishes her with only the slightest of annoyed glances. Rinko is actually father's first wife, although she bore him no children.  

"Yeah, listen to Obasan Okina! We're gonna beat you this time!" A smaller woman with ratty braids of yellow hair hops up next to my mother, crouched on her haunches in a form-hugging tan leotard.

"Himawari." Mother laughs awkwardly. One of Father's younger wives, Himawari also happens to be Michio's mother.

Yosuke goes on, "So I went over the arms dealers' heads to contact the manufacturers directly. They agreed to sell to us on the condition that we give them an advance." He rolls out an order slip to show me. The bottom line jumps out at me like a mugger in a dark alley. Honestly, I would prefer the mugger at this point. He reads my mind. "This was the absolute lowest they would go, even at wholesale. Weren't too keen on jeopardizing their relationship with cosa nostra."

"I see," I say, strained. It's not that I don't believe him, but the treasury doesn't need a dent of that size right before we head off into what is bound to be a protracted conflict.  

In the courtyard, Mother draws a pair of katanas.

"Just like we practiced!" she says to Himawari who nods back, grinning. They split up, moving in opposite directions toward their opponents.

"Oh no, what superior tactics. Whatever shall we do, Okina?" Rinko says sarcastically. Okina's ruby red lips tweak into a tiny smile. They spin around to stand back to back. Okina swings a chained weight like a wrecking ball, gathering momentum as she traces Mother's movements with her eyes and waits for her chance. Rinko draws a pair of pointed katars from holsters at her hips.  

Keiichi doesn't move his eyes off the action when he joins in on the conversation, "It's just as well. The men are hungry for a fight. If we have the weaponry, we might as well make our move."

"In the right place at the right time," I insist.

Himawari draws two handfuls of throwing spikes from dispensers strapped to her thighs, holding them between her knuckles like cat's claws. They sing through the air toward Rinko, wickedly accurate. In the same moment, Mother lunges for Okina with both swords raised and a fierce battle cry. Their targets revolve back to back.  

"Surprise!" Rinko grins, blocking Mother's blades with her push daggers. Okina's meteor hammer bats the lighter needles effortlessly out of the air before catching their thrower in the stomach.

"Oof!" Himawari hits the wall and goes down as the stands erupt into cheers. The second weight on the other end of the chain comes hurtling down from above. Recovering herself quickly, Himawari rolls out of the way.

Meanwhile, Mother trades steps desperately with Rinko to keep out of range of her swinging daggers. With smaller, lighter weapons, Rinko dances circles around her.

Keiichi challenges me, "And when is the right time?"

I respond impatiently, " _Soon_."

Rinko cuts through her defense, blazing fast, and tears Mother's sarashi. She gasps, sacrificing a sword for her modesty as she holds the torn bandages to her chest. She raises her other katana to sloppily block another attack, but she's on the back foot now. Getting closer each time, Rinko isn't aiming to draw blood: it's more like... _Fanservice._ She slowly but surely shreds what's left of Mother's clothes, much to the audience's delight.

I've lost my appetite for both the fight and this conversation as I pick at the dumpling on my plate. Tearing open the wrapper, I disembowel it with my chopsticks and then shoot a glance at my father, who of course, seems to be enjoying every second of this humiliation.

Rattled by her clothes falling apart around her body, Mother is an easy target. Rinko knocks her second katana away; Mother drops to her knees, holding up the tatters of her kimono, but they betray her anyway. Strips of cloth fall to the ground, revealing the porcelain shelf of her shoulders to lecherous eyes. Crude whistling from the stands.

Mother crosses her arms, hugging her breasts to her chest as she squeezes her eyes shut in embarrassment.  

"What's the matter, Mirai?" Rinko purrs, pointing both katars at her. "Worried everyone is going to see under your kimono? You've got nothing to show anyway." Mother lifts her grey eyes, furious.

"Mirai!" Himawari noticed her partner's predicament, disengaging Okina to run to her aid. As if Okina would let such a rookie mistake go unpunished. She swings her meteor low, where the chain catches Himawari across the ankles and tightly snares them together. The yellow-haired woman falls forward with a cry, skidding on her flat chest.

Rinko uses Mother's ponytail like a leash to pull her up on her feet.

"Yamete..." Mother whimpers, but doesn't dare fight Rinko's probing hand as it wanders her body, from her flat stomach to the smooth curve of her waist. Rinko swats away her hands, and without them, Mother's sarashi falls in strips from an ample chest. Her head drops forward in the same instant, shielding her face with purple bangs.

My skin crawls. "Why do we have to watch this..." I sink into my seat and look away. Only to find Yosuke absorbing the scene with wide eyes and I'm not sure what's worse.

"Oishii..." he mutters; I don't think he's referring to the food. I've made my decision.

"That's my mother you're talking about!"

"Sorry, sorry..." He chuckles awkwardly.

Rinko makes sure my mother is exposed to Otou-san for his enjoyment before she cups Mother's breasts from behind and massages them roughly, simply trying to get a reaction out of her. It's working as she moans and makes faces, flushed red.

"Have you no shame?" Rinko taunts, letting a hand run down past her navel and into the dip between her legs, out of sight. Mother's eyes shoot open, horrified.

"No!" She writhes, stopped short by a restraining arm locked around her neck. "Ah! Ah..." Her expression turns desperate, then she bites her lip. I can guess what's happening under the fabric from the rhythmic movement of Rinko's hand between Mother's thighs and it makes me cringe. I just can't understand it. I like men, but do you see me collecting exotic specimens to pit them against each other for my own amusement?

A silver needle buries itself in Rinko's shoulder. She cries out, letting go of my mother in surprise.

"Gotcha!" Himawari's face lights up in victory before Okina yanks sharply on her chain. Mother drops only for a split second to swiftly cinch her kimono closed and scoop up one of her swords in the same movement. She springs up with a vengeance, catching Rinko in the jaw with her elbow. The buxom redhead stumbles.

Okina has Himawari fully entangled in the chain of her weapon, holding her up like the victim of a strange bondage kink. Her limbs are snared safely out of the way while the chains make the most of her small breasts. The slender woman struggles in her trap, only making the bindings constrict tighter. One particularly ingenious loop tightens into the space between her legs, rubbing her clit through her leotard. Himawari gasps out loud.  

"Himawari!" Mother cries out. She points her blade at Okina. "Let her go! Fight me instead..." Okina's calm face ripples gently into a smile.

"I would never turn down a challenge like that." She pulls a loop on the chain which makes them all unravel effortlessly and deposit her prisoner in the dust. Scrambling to her feet, Himawari bounds away on all fours, shouting,

"You've got this, Mirai!"

Mother readies her katana while Okina swings her meteor hammer, languidly gathering speed as they circle each other. Okina lashes out first. Mother dodges the meteor, then rolls out of the way of the second one. The chains sing through the air effortlessly at Okina's manipulation, coming together like a swiftly closing knot. Mother hops them as easily as a jump rope before they can trip her up. Applause and whistling; _yes, yes!_ I sit forward again, hopeful.

"You've been refining your technique." Okina retracts her weapon with a sharp tug.

"Perhaps you've gotten stale." There's rebellion in Mother's eyes. The larger woman takes a sweeping sidestep to evade the thrust of her sword, swinging her meteor rapidly to ward her off. The weapon clangs against her blade and the impact reverberates up her arm. A flash in Okina's eyes: she changes tactics. Both heavy ends of the meteor come down from above, over and over in alternating strokes, pummeling Mother's defenses. She uses her katana to defend desperately as she backpedals, but Okina manipulates her weapon at the last moment, changing angles to strike from the side.

Mother falls to all fours, clutching her side. She breathes hard; her eyes alight on the second katana lying abandoned on the ground. She makes a dash for it. Okina attempts to curb her: the meteor hurtles through the air but gets there too late as Mother lunges under it for her sword, grinning victoriously.

But just when she thought she was gaining ground, the chain twists deceptively. It forms loops which tighten sharply on her arm. She gasps out. In no time, the second meteor wraps around her other arm. She tugs helplessly. Okina is much stronger when she tugs back.

My mother sprawls face forward on the ground to the sound of tumultuous applause. She tenses as Okina approaches, but the massive woman only bends to place a hand on the back of her head.

"You fought well, Mirai," she says briefly before rising to exit the courtyard gracefully. I try not to take it as a metaphor for my own life... As I watch my mother disentangle herself from Okina's deadly weapon, my mind wanders. Okina dominated that battlefield, and yet she hardly moved from her spot in the center of it. The two weighted ends of her meteor hammer did all the work for her: pushing her opponents around the battlefield and striking only when necessary. She was so unpredictable, Mother couldn't pin her down long enough to formulate a proper plan of attack. Okina was in control the whole time...

I get up abruptly; Keiichi looks at me.

"Prepare the men," I say, "I have a plan."

 

On my quickened trip through the Pagoda, I notice a familiar blue shape bobbing this way. Sora's fluffy hair. He wears a simple t-shirt and jeans today, fumbling with an awkwardly weighted tray of ink pots. He hasn't noticed me yet. Rude. Shifting my trajectory by only a few inches, I position myself _exactly_ close enough so that he bumps into me, without being in the way when he falls forward with a cry, launching the entire tray to the floor. Clay pots smash against the wood and beautiful inks run together into ugly, greyish soup. My clothes, however, are spotless - not so much as a splatter. _Flawless_ execution, as usual.

"No, no, no!" Sora moans, gathering whatever he can salvage. He has his priorities mixed up. Sora squeals when I wrench him up on his feet by the wrist then goes bright red and bug-eyed.

"J-Jurei-san?"

"Avert your gaze, _nanashi!_ " I bring my face close to his threateningly. Nanashi - _nameless -_ a word and a place that he knows well. He obeys, lowering his gaze dejectedly to the floor. After all, the name _Toriko_ means nothing in the presence of an Akira.

"In case you didn't notice, you just bumped into the third son of the okashira."

"I-I'm sorry..."  
"What did you say, nanashi?" I shake the smaller man a little, just to rattle him, and as a display for the others in the hall who are failing to act uninterested. Sora trembles, terrified.

"Gomen nasai! Honto ni, gomen ne!" Now he's just groveling. He does try so very hard to keep out of trouble... Massimo could learn a thing or two.

"I know what to do with a clumsy no-name like you..." He screams as I drag him down the corridor.

Sora has gone quiet by the time we step outside, accepting his fate as I push him into the front seat of a black car. I slide into the driver's seat. I don't always drive myself, but this excited energy makes me want to put my hands on and _do_ something immediately, even if it's just obeying tedious road rules.

"Wh-Where are we going?" he dares to ask.

"Work," I say simply. But before I can put the car in gear, I hear the passenger seat door opening. I turn around in my seat to see two people climbing in.

"Mother!"

She flops down in the backseat, gesturing to Himawari, "Quick, quick, close the door before they see!" The door slams shut and seals their feminine giggling inside with us.

"We are not doing this today." I glare severely at them. "I am not sneaking you around town."

"No one will even know it's us..." Mother insists. She pops the hood of a black hoodie over her violet hair. The shapeless garment mutes her curvy form.

"Yeah, just think of us as your younger, hotter brothers," Himawari agrees as she stuffs her thin yellow braids under a baseball cap. With her tomboyish figure and mother's chest bound tightly with sarashi, they have a point: they could pass for androgynous men.

"I don't have time for this..."

"Pleeeeaaaaase, Juju?" Mother simpers. "Everyone saw my boobs today, you could at least get me a hamburger..."

"Kaa-san..." I knead my forehead irritably.

"Yeah, Obasan Okina never lets us do anything fun." Himawari makes a jab at the older woman, pouting. Looking in my mother's pleading grey eyes and at her quivering, plush lip was a mistake.

"Fine," I relent at last. "But we're taking the drive-thru." Not even a gangster can say no to his mother.

 

The classy black car is filled with the smell of cheap fast food. My nose wrinkles slightly. A look in the rearview mirror doesn't make me feel much better when all I can see is burger wrappers and used napkins littered all over the expensive upholstery. Junk food lifts their spirits much faster than alcohol ever could as the ladies chow down in the back.

"Eeeeee!" Himawari squeals, peering into one of the grease-stained paper bags. "I got an extra chicken nugget!"

"Masaka?!" Mother tilts the corner of the bag to look inside too. "I'll trade you for half a flurry."

"Nyah." Himawari sticks her tongue out childishly. Mother shakes the styrofoam cup, grinning.

"It's Oreooo," she sing-songs. It's been like this for ten miles.

"Can you ladies keep it down?" I fail to mask the annoyance in my tone. Mother just rolls her eyes, snickering with her friend until her gaze lands on Sora as if she's seeing him for the first time. The straw falls out of her mouth in a gasp.

"You're on a _date!_ " The cerulean-haired apprentice blushes deeply.

"I am not!" I counter immediately but my easily-excited mother has already taken her theory and is sprinting at full speed to its illogical conclusion.

"Oh, how could I be so insensitive?" she moans. "I'm the worst mom ever." Himawari strokes her back sympathetically as if consoling a drunk friend retching in the club bathroom.

"That's not true, Mirai, you're a _great_ mom."

"Thank you, I know." She takes a huge, despairing bite of her sandwich, chewing slowly. Mother's face suddenly lights up in recognition. "Oh, I know you! You're Hiroshi's apprentice, Toriko, right?"

"Hai, Miraisaki-san," Sora says politely. She grips his cheek and tugs on it, making the smaller man giggle helplessly.

"Kawaiiii!" she gushes, "You got a good one, Ju-Ju."

"They're so cute together," Himawari says, "Who cares if Jurei dates men, anyway?"

"Yeah, yeah!" That gets Mother all worked up. "Ju-Ju, I think you should date whoever you want! Kiss _all_ the men! You have my blessing to be the gayest man in the whole city!" She makes this declaration while holding up a half-eaten hamburger, wearing ketchup on her chin. Himawari thoughtfully blots it with a napkin.

"I'll get right on that, Kaa-san," I say sarcastically. I'm sure she means them, but they're empty words nonetheless. She has no power, even as the wife of the okashira. Her support can only ever be moral, not material... But it's still nice to have. I say none of that out loud, but my spirits are marginally lighter. I can even ignore their antics the rest of the way.

"I like your mom, she's fun." I look at Sora who spoke, staring long enough to make him uncomfortable. He averts his gaze to the small order of fries he nurses in his lap.

"She can be," I sigh, turning back to the gridlocked road.

"So where are we going?" he asks, more curious than cowardly this time. Well, telling him my plan would be like bouncing ideas off a brick wall: even if I won't get intelligent discourse, it will keep me practiced.  

"Don Lazarre is a high profile target. He rarely leaves the security of the Villa, especially during a gang war, which makes him practically untouchable. He has associates all over this city who run his business for him, just like we do."

"Business?" Sora echoes hopelessly. He clearly doesn't see how the two connect.

"War is money, Sora, and money is war. Cripple the mafia's income structure and the don will have no choice but to appear." A nasty smirk curls my lips. "Set the whole kingdom on fire to flush out the king."

"What is their business, anyway?"

"The main chunk of it is the aether red trade."

"I didn't know there was another type of aether," he says as he looks out the window at the grey city. His knobby knees rub together uneasily. He clearly doesn't have the stones for the messier side of this business, more at home in his domain of brushes and dyes.

"Aether in its red form is a performance drug," I explain. "It's quite popular in the wrestling industry for building muscle mass. And for... Sexual performance."

"Wow, this is all really hard..."

"That's the idea," I smirk. A french fry invades my field of vision topped with a swoop of ketchup. Sora is holding it up to my face. Wordlessly, I accept it. Conjure up any image you can of fine food and drink. Elegant plates of the finest, most expensive ingredients; wine aged in old casks in the basements of storied chateaus. The kinds of culinary techniques that take lifetimes to master, passed down from chef to chef, as sacred as our own irezumi: then this - _this fry_ \- is the antithesis of all of that. That strange combination of freshly deep-fried and somehow still soggy, soaked with grease and crusted with salt. Ketchup which, if it contained a single molecule of a real tomato, would shock me. I open my mouth for another which Sora happily supplies.

"You know, you didn't have to threaten to sue a McDonald's employee over extra napkins..." He chuckles.

"Don't tell me who to sue." My lips tweak slightly into a smile.

 

###

 

When we get to our destination, Damon is already there to receive us on the boardwalk of Siren's Bay. Mother and Himawari wait in the car while I step outside with Sora, carrying a black briefcase. Damon grins as we approach. "How come you only text me when you're sober? I would prefer a booty call."  

"Where's your cute boyfriend, Damon?" I counter. "At 'work'?" His expression turns to annoyance at that. "Just take me to the warehouse; we had a deal." His hang-up was profit, so the fastest way to get him on board was to pay him off. So at least _Damon_ hasn't changed.

"About that... Price just went up. Call it the cost of doing business." Not this right now... I try not to look too concerned as I say coolly,

"How much more do you want?"

"The entire margin on your next shipment." But I can't keep it up as I shout at him.

"That's insane!"

"And I want it up front." My mind is already racing through hypotheticals. Numbers drop off a financial statement in my head. Damon doesn't look as good-humored anymore. "You're asking me to stick my neck out for you, Jurei, and my neck isn't cheap."

"That's funny, your dick is," I say bitingly.

"Your _ass_ is."

I know I don't have a choice here. Quiet, I write him another check and hand it over, all while looking him calmly in the eyes. Those fathomless, dark eyes. They drop to scan the number. He looks at me briefly and then turns around to lead the way. My shoulders drop. _Phew._

Damon suddenly whips around with a vengeance. His hand is at my collar; I choke out a meaningless noise.

"Jurei!" Sora actually yells. Damon's eyes turn _terrifying_ , scouring mine _._

"Do you think this is some kind of joke?" he hisses, "Do you think I don't know what your margins are?"

"D-Damon, I-" I choke out.

"Do you think I'm an _idiot?!_ " He shouts that part, shaking me. He slaps the check against my chest and it feels much harder than it was. " _Fix it_ ," he demands.

"Okay! Okay..." Catching my breath, I change the number on the line with a trembling hand. He snatches it away before I can so much as place a decimal point.

"That's better." His tone fluctuates into something hypnotic. The sight of his hand makes me flinch but a surprisingly soft touch numbs the reflex. He runs his fingers through my hair, almost sympathetically, dislodging sections from my meticulous bun. In an instant, my cheek is pressed against a cloyingly warm chest. "Don't lie to me again, Rei. I always treated you right when you weren't lying to me..."

Abruptly, he's walking on, like the altercation never even happened. Making me feel slightly crazy for even thinking it did. He was always good at that. I fix my hair as I follow him, silently autopsying myself. Why did I let him do that? I had my gun, I had two ninja ladies in the car, one of whom is my _mother._ I had my voice, I had my _brain_ , didn't I? It was in my head the whole time! But all that good, common sense flew frantically out my ear the second he laid his hands on me. I squeeze my eyes shut, taking centering breaths. I almost jump out of my skin when a hand rests on my arm. It's just Sora.

"Are you okay?" he asks. I pull away.

"I'm fine, I don't need your help." Snapping, defensive, because I am not interested in joining the battered boyfriend's club. Sora clasps his hands together quietly instead.

Damon leads us to a warehouse in a nondescript part of the docks. It looks like just one in a grid of faceless storage sheds. The sheet metal walls are stained with rust and a number riveted by the door reads solemnly: '103'.

"This is it, the mafia's shipment, awaiting dispatch," Damon declares, "Doesn't look like much, but there's enough aether red in there to fuel a whole season of wrestling and give everyone watching a boner."

"Perfect... This is where you come in, Sora." He looks surprised.

"I 'come in'?" I flip open the briefcase to reveal a dock worker's uniform and a plastic wrapper.

"Actually, you're _going_ in." I hold up the shirt against his body, comparing the size for a moment. "Change into this."

Sora comes out from behind another one of the warehouses when he's finished changing. The khaki-colored uniform is a little big on him, but that was unavoidable considering who it is. He stands still even though his expression is filled with worry as I thread a camouflaged camera into the buttonhole and fit an earpiece into the lily-white shell of his ear.

"I would do it myself," I explain, "But my face is too recognizable. If anyone saw me in there, our entire mission would be blown. You wouldn't have that problem, right nanashi?" I tap his nose tauntingly.

"Oh," Sora says quietly, "I understand." What, he didn't think it was _really_ a date, did he?

Sora lets himself into the warehouse with the access code Damon provided while I follow his progress on my phone. We sit on a bench at a respectable distance from the warehouse. I wear a soft white hat to protect my hair from the sea breeze, but it's quickly sticky with salt anyway. Without even looking, I can sense Damon's arm slithering over the backrest to bracket my body. He does this all the time: constantly eroding my boundaries just to see what he can get away with.

"Still making other people do your dirty work, huh?" he comments. I ignore him. "Don't be like that." He chuckles. "You used to be crazy about me." When I glare at him, I remember why: it's the hair. The stupid good hair. Go on, call me shallow.

"I was _crazy_ , period," I quip.

 _"There's no one else here."_ Sora's voice through the phone gives me a good excuse to shift focus. Looking through the camera view, I see wooden pallets stacked with sacks in plain packaging. If you weren't looking too closely, you would think it was nothing more insidious than a shipment of cement or some such. Of course, you would be glancing over hundreds of thousands of dollars of product. Only a simple manufacturer's sticker on each sack hints at what's really inside.  

"That's perfect," I say, "Open the package." I hear the sound of rustling plastic. Inside is a stack of stickers identical to the ones on the aether sacks.

 _"Uh, I think someone beat you to it, Jurei-san."_ Sora looks confusedly from my stickers to the ones already on the packages.  
"My stickers are fitted with GPS trackers," I inform him.

"No way." Damon grins.

"Slimmest on the market." I almost smile. "They can also release a reagent that reacts with aether red's volatile structure to cause an explosion."

Sora's voice breaks, but only slightly. _"O-Oh, that's good to know."_

"The mafia has the most efficient aether routes in the city. Each of those pallets is delivered to a different zone of Clear for distribution, all within hours."

"So if you track where they go..." Damon muses.

"We can create a map of all the mafia lieutenants' hideouts."

He laughs. "And then blow them up!" Damon sighs, shaking his head. His arm eventually found its way around my shoulder like the slowest striking boa constrictor in the world, but I don't swat it off, nor do I acknowledge it, preferring instead to let it lie. It isn't the worst thing in the world to have someone who can appreciate your dark side.

 _"That seems... Dangerous."_ Sora certainly doesn't. I snap at him.

"Just do as you're told. I need you to replace one sticker on each pallet." He doesn't dare defy me as he gets to work. His careful artist hands are of use here as he delicately peels stickers from without tearing them and smoothes down new ones. Everything is going according to plan... Until Damon's arm suddenly clamps down around me tightly. Whisking my hat off my head, he holds it up to shield our faces from the world before crushing his lips against mine.

For a moment, I'm stunned, blinking in the yellowish sunlight filtering through the fabric of my hat. The soft light makes his features glow, almost angelic - although that is a nonsensical word to associate with Damon. I find myself slowly reciprocating to his kiss, on instinct, or perhaps desire? But only for a moment before I push him away, panting hard.

"What is wrong with you?" Damon blinks at me romantically, then points. I follow his finger to a dark-complexioned man dressed in grey walking toward the warehouse. "Mafia," I breathe, eyes widening in understanding. His smooch just saved me from being spotted.

"See his pinky ring?" Damon whispers, "It's silver. Capo."

"A lieutenant," I translate with a moan, "No..." I look desperately at Sora's camera view. He's just wrapping up his task - _not fast enough._ "Sora, you have company. If he finds out who you are, he will kill you."

 _"What?"_ he cries sharply.

"Calm down."

 _"How can I be calm when you just told me something like THAT?! I'm not a gangster, Jurei-san."_ Sora is panicking.

"You are now," I say as the capo enters the building. "Congratulations."

 _"Who's there?"_ I hear his sharp voice through the wire, then Sora's unintelligible sobbing.

"I'm going to get you through this," I promise, "Just do as I say." The capo finds Sora cowering between the pallets in no time, taking long strides towards him. His emerald eyes burn as if right at me from where my camera is positioned.

 _"What are you doing here?"_ he demands.

 _"I-I,"_ Sora stammers.

I prompt him, "You're a dock worker."

_"I work on the docks, Sir, I was instructed to take inventory."_

_"There's been a mistake,"_ says the capo, _"This warehouse is private."_ On the screen, I see his expression turn distrustful. _"Unless there hasn't been... Strip."_

 _"What? Why?"_ Sora quails, shrinking back against a stack of aether.

"He's trying to find your wire," I tell him, tense, "Don't let him." Under the glowering gaze of the lieutenant, Sora unbuttons his shirt. An idea strikes: "Slower," I say, "Like a striptease." I know what an aroused man looks like. I can only imagine Sora has taken my advice when the capo's furious gaze softens and turns intrigued, even a little turned on. My camera angle changes when Sora tosses his shirt to the ground. From here, I can see them both of them. Sora looks so vulnerable, so helpless with his skinny arms and small, bare chest on display, heaving nervously. The capo is a large man already, but he practically looks like a bear by comparison, about to maul him. And Sora is frozen in terror, as if he believes that if he doesn't move, then the capo won't see him. That doesn't work on real bears either.  

"This kid's toast," Damon chuckles.

"Keep going," I urge anyway. The blue-haired apprentice undoes his pants obediently. I'm not sure how he's doing it, but he can even make beige worker's pants look like a stripper costume as he teases it off, swaying on his thin legs. He steps out of his pants with a small, flirtatious pop of a leg. I have to blink, surprised. This isn't his first rodeo, or peep show as the case may be... Sora poses against the stack, laying his head back against it and affecting an innocent expression. He clasps his hands behind his back, putting his slender body on display for the capo's lecherous perusal.

"Did you find what you're looking for?" I say, breathless. Sora repeats it after me. "Or perhaps you'd like to look a little deeper..." A flush crosses his soft cheekbones when he realizes what I'm making him do. Sora looks away demurely. He'll thank me later because it works. The capo all but forgets himself as he seizes the smaller man and lifts to seat him on a short stack. As dark charcoal pants land in a rumpled pile around the lieutenant's ankles, Sora's eyes widen at the size of that thing and I can't help but ogle either.

"So it's true, they are bigger..." I murmur.

Damon suddenly looks self-conscious. "It's not _that_ big..." The capo is opening Sora's legs slowly like a meal he wants to savor. He gazes down at Sora's pucker: it's so cute, it makes him smile.

 _"It's huge,"_ Sora says, nervous. The capo grins up at him.

 _"Then you've never had a real man before."_ He produces an aether gun from inside his blazer and tilts his head back for a second to shoot up. Wiping away red residue on his upper lip, he holds Sora at the hips. The shot of aether red takes him from hard to rock-solid in a matter of seconds.

"Take one for the team, Toriko." I bite my lip. I know he could go for hours in that state, but we can't keep this up for that long. This is bad.  

Sora winces as the capo makes an entrance with little preparation. There's no way his small seal could keep out a monster intruder like that one. I see his toes curl as he squeezes his eyes shut, just trying to get through it. About halfway in, the capo hilts himself abruptly.

 _"Ow!"_  Sora cries out in surprise, bucking. He hits his head on the stack behind him - _no!_ More importantly, he knocked the earpiece loose and I can do nothing but watch despairingly as it falls between the stacks, lost. Sora realizes it a moment later when his head is oddly quiet and it makes him gasp. The capo has his face buried in Sora's neck, oblivious as he moves on him.

I can't instruct him anymore. I have to get him out of there - _now_ . Looking around desperately: there has to be something I can do, something I can use. My gaze rests on Damon. Some- _one._

"Damon, you're a cop, get him out of there," I plead. I already see that satisfied smirk on his face: the one that tells me he is going to milk even this for everything it's worth.

"I could do that... For a price."

"Dammit, Damon..." But he stops my hand short by the wrist when it goes for my checkbook.

"I don't want money this time. I want _you._ "

"Excuse me?" I lift my gaze to meet his, indignant.

"Have dinner with me." His conditions take me completely aback.

"Dinner. With you," I repeat slowly.

His hand snaked into my hair again, stroking it. "Like we used to... I miss you, Rei." His tone is almost pleading. _Almost._

"Don't call me that," I squirm, hesitant to accept the contact.

"It's just dinner." It's never just dinner. But my gaze lands on the camera view of Sora, locked up at the joints, terrified and trapped on that shipping pallet with the huge mafioso on top of him. He looks on the verge of a breakdown.

"Okay," I relent. It immediately feels like a mistake when those eyes just light up like a demon delighted to have tricked a foolish mortal into signing something he shouldn't have.

There's an extra skip in Damon's step as he walks over to the warehouse. He puffs his chest out and bangs on the doors loudly with a fist. On the screen, I see the capo's expression, both incredulous and furious as he hastily gathers up his pants. He yells at Sora, who slips off the stack, trembling and gets dressed. They meet Damon at the door.

Damon unfurls his badge in the mafioso's face. It's his second-most-favorite thing to flash at people...

"Clear Police Department. I have a warrant to search this place."

"Oh yeah, where is it?" The capo folds his burly arms over a wide chest.

Damon has to stand on tiptoes to get in the guy's face, but he does it with as much dignity as he can muster. "Eli Schwartz!" he barks his father's name: a name that has raw power in this city. A flicker of doubt crosses the capo's face.

"I'm not looking for trouble, Officer," he sounds much more respectful all of a sudden.

"Well lucky for you, neither am I..." Damon lets his gaze drift casually to Sora standing quietly with his head down behind the hulking man. "In fact, I could use a good time." The capo catches his meaning and pushes Sora forward, scowling.

"G'day, Sir." Damon smiles brightly at the capo as he slips an arm around Sora's narrow shoulders. The doors slam shut behind him.

"Sora!" I leap out of the bench to meet them, taking Sora's pale hands. "Are you okay?" He doesn't so much as dignify me with a glance. I let go abruptly, consciously dialing it back. "That was good work. For a nanashi." That's the final straw as Sora shrugs off Damon's arm wordlessly and walks back in the direction of the car. I move to follow but a hand locks around my wrist. Damon grins at me

"I'll call you."

"I'm a man of my word," I say evenly, even though every part of my body is screeching at me to _run._

 

###

 

Harm's Way: the lawless border between our territories, and our starting line under a moonless night sky. For once, Keiichi actually looks impressed. He stares at my tablet, where, over the course of a few hours, a complete map of the mafia's hideout and aether routes simply drew itself. And all we had to do was sit back and _watch._ The mafia's razor-efficient distribution system is about to turn into their demise.

"This is incredible." Keiichi sounds awed.

"I know." I smile and tilt my chin just a little bit. "There they are: all the right places."

"Then now is the right time." Keiichi lifts an oni breather mask to his face and secures the straps behind his head. The mask is jet black and covers half his face from the nose down. Between a grin full of pointed teeth sit gas mask filters which should keep them breathing clean air when the aether red hits the fan.

"You sure you don't want to come, Otouto?" I turn to Yosuke, not that you'd know it at first. He chose a red, full-face mask complete with white mane flowing over the crown of his head. He has a lanky leg clad in studded leather cocked up on the pedal of his motorcycle. "You're the man who made all of this possible!"

"Thanks, but I prefer to work behind the scenes." My brothers are more the spotlight type anyway. They have plenty of reinforcements too as more faces in terrifying masks drift into view. The shadowy alleys off Harm's Way are soon dotted with hideous, grinning faces. An army of oni accompanied by the low rumbling of idling motorcycles. Waiting for a cue. When the patrons and hookers that populate Harm's Way start to take notice, they flee, screaming in whatever drunken or drugged state of undress they happen to be in. The street is clear in minutes. It's time.

I key in the code and words flash on the screen: 'Detonation in 3 - 2 -' _Explosions._ Going off in a crescendo across the city. I can feel the shockwaves from here, reverberating through the soles of my shoes. Followed quickly by plumes of smoke blotting out the serene night sky in burning red. It brings a grin to my face: there's a message not even a king could ignore. The motorcycles roar in unison.

"Let's hunt some mafia dogs!" Yosuke laughs loudly, pumping a fist in the air. Yakuza members roar an agreement behind him. Keiichi revs his motorcycle and leads them speeding away toward the pillars of smoke standing out like beacons in the night. While motorcycles zip past, my phone rings demandingly. I lift it to my ear.

"Hello?"

 _"Jurei! Jurei- it's bad!"_ My blood freezes in my veins. Massimo- and he sounds panicked.

"Max?" I spin around, clapping a hand over my other ear to hear better. "Max, where are you?" He was supposed to be home tonight.

 _"-Trouble- Explosions!"_ The motorcycles drown out every other word and to make matters worse, our connection is tenuous, skipping constantly. _"DANGER!"_ Gets through. Oh god... They'll kill him.

" _Max!_ " My voice is shrill. The call drops. "No, what?" I swear under my breath as I hit redial. The steady tones of a tied-up line. "Dame!" I hurl my phone against the alley wall in a rage, then realize what I've done and scoop it up frantically. A cracked screen. Of course. I sweep the alley, desperate. My eyes alight on a straggler just getting on his motorcycle.

"Hey!" he shouts as I push him over.

"Get out of my way!" Heaving the bike off the ground, I mount it in a swift movement and race away.

The beastly machine roars thunderously underneath me, rattling my entire ribcage as I push it to go faster, _faster._ The city whirls by in an oily blur of light and purple hair whips around my face, having escaped my bun. My haste is rewarded when I come up to a vast cloud of red smoke spilling from one of the target buildings. I fit a simple white oni mask and respirator over the lower half of my face. The porcelain feels cool against my skin moments before I plunge into the hot, heavy cloud. I have to slow down so I don't crash into anything in the thick red fog. The roar of the engine lowers to a growl. I find the crumbling entrance to the building. The door hangs open on its hinges. Ditching the vehicle, I sprint inside.

"Max!" I call out, scanning the room. My rapid breathing sounds impossibly loud rebounded in the filter of the breather mask, but it keeps out the aether red fumes that would otherwise give me a deadly overdose in a matter of seconds.

I don't see him. I don't see... _Anyone_. I slow down a little and look around properly. This is definitely a hideout, judging by the fortified, tinted windows and surprisingly lavish furniture for such a plain exterior. A hookah sits on the table. All undamaged, in fact, the only damage was out front. I am not sure about the mafia but I wouldn't leave a shipment of illegal narcotics lying on the front porch like a box of groceries. Something is wrong.

Slowly, I removed my breather mask and take a cautious breath of air. One second, two: it has no effect on me. My eyes widen. That's not aether red. It's- this is- this is all theatrics to _lure us in_. My hand darts to my phone - that's when I hear something metallic rolling on the tiled floor. I look down just in time to see a gold-plated hand grenade tap lightly against my shoe.

"Chikusho-!" And then my vision is filled with white. A blinding flash that bleaches out the room, the flames, my hand raised instinctively to protect my face, _everything_ . It scours out my sight, leaving behind only searing, burning _white_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you cut me, I would bleed peanut butter, definitely...


	6. A Total Eclipse

_How am I still alive?_ I have to admit sensations slowly, one at a time through a turnstile to my brain: first comes my own breathing echoing in my head, sucked in and spat back out as fast as my heaving chest will allow. Then the smell of smoke. The cold, although I want to lock it out. The hard floor underneath me. I wait patiently for my vision, but it doesn't come. Only a blank white screen where it used to be. A whimper mingles with my breaths. _What is this?_ Lifting my hands, I touch my face and search for my eyelids. Soft eyelashes brush my fingers, alerting me that I reached my destination, but I don't see them. I'm blinking, mechanical. They work. So why can't I see anything but this scalding white? I'm hyperventilating again. Each pounding beat of my heart reverberates through my entire body, like the shockwave of the grenade, only this time it's going off inside my chest, over and over again. _No, Jurei._ Ground myself. I must ground myself.

I roll over; my fingers fall naturally into the grooves on the floor. _Tiles -_ I register, tracing the pattern. A square. Then another square. Squares interlocked with squares, interlocked with squares, interlocked with squares: that's _order._ That's logical. When my breathing has returned to some kind of normalcy, I run a diagnostic on myself as if on a piece of buggy hardware. The _grenade_. It didn't tear me apart, but it took my sight: it was a flash grenade, far more potent than any I'm familiar with. I reverse engineer to the ruined facade of the drug den. An ambush. _How did they know?_ I have to de-prioritize that thought, when I realize my brothers are heading straight into a trap.  

With a shaking hand, I retrieve my phone from my pocket, not that it's of much use as I paw at it blindly. The screen feels rough; sharp edges nip at me. That's right, it was cracked. I have no idea if this thing even still works...

"We got one!" A shout, jarring in its enthusiasm. I recoil from the unfamiliar voice - _mafia_ \- and just like that, all my meticulous, careful work is undone. Gasping, I drag myself in the other direction, but pressure on the back of my hand stops me in my tracks. The cruel tread of a shoe, grinding it into the floor. "Oh no, I'm not letting you go _anywhere._ " I let out a cry of pain, then yell,

"Back off, mafioso dog! You have no idea who you're dealing with!"

"But of course I do, Jurei." Amusement in the speaker's tone, but it makes me freeze. "You're Jurei Akira, the third son of the okashira." He giggles. "I know, I'm surprised too. Being on the front lines? Noooot really your MO, is it?"

"And what do you know about me?" I hiss warily.

"You're a lurker, Jurei." It feels like every time he butchers my name with his young, almost pre-pubescent voice, it drops in value just a little bit. "You lurk in the shadows, manipulating money. In the kitchen, cooking books, just lurk, lurk, _lurkinnng_ through your whole life _._ " The annoying sounds he calls words are strung out into a range of audio too high to be taken seriously. Maybe it's simply because I can't attach a face to the voice, or because my lack of vision forces me to pick up on every nuance of it, but I've never found any voice as grating as his. "I just think it's funny: your whole identity is dirty money, but you don't much like getting your hands dirty, do you? Maybe that's why they're so _soft_." He draws out another cry of pain as he pressures my knuckles again.

I grit my teeth, steadying myself before I speak again, "You know so much about me, it only seems fair that you tell me who you are." _And why you know so much about me..._ That gives the shrill voice pause.

"Eclipse," he says, but it wasn't worth the wait. That name means nothing to me. _Why_ don't I know that name?  

As young as he sounds, his words carry authority when he instructs an underling, "Bring him upstairs; let's party!"

"Let go of me!" I shout at the strong arms that wrap around my middle like a vice. They toss me over a shoulder like a sack of rice; I can do nothing but cling helplessly to my abductor. The material of his clothing feels luxurious, reminding me of when I would run my hands over Massimo's suit. Wool. Dolce. The man carrying me laughs.

"Seems like a lot of manpower for one accountant." I focus intensely on my hearing, trying to approximate how many men I'm dealing with from the sound of their shoes against the floor. Five... Maybe six? Oh what does it matter; I couldn't even take on _one,_ and it isn't just because I've been blinded. We go through a door.

"Do it like I showed you," Eclipse sounds excited. Do _what?_ The thug unloads me on the harsh surface of a lacquered wooden table, then grabs my collar.

"Get your disgusting hands off me!" I try to resist again.

"Hold him down." But that breaches my defense. Hands disorient me with unexpected contact. They're _touching_ me- I struggle, growing desperate as my breaths quicken.

A hand lands atop mine pinned to the table and suddenly I'm paralyzed, or perhaps playing dead, because I know it belongs to Eclipse. It's soft and small; I could probably envelope it completely. My long fingers curl instinctively as, testing that theory briefly before releasing. Hypothesis proved.    

"You know, you're cuter in person than in the pictures," he comments nonchalantly. Then a grubby little finger is running along the side of my face. Ugh. It's like being seduced by a toddler.

"I know that." I scoff. "Also, don't touch me with your nasty Chuck E. Cheese fingers." The young mafioso draws back, offended.

"Ummm, ouch?" he says insincerely, "I was gonna be nice to you, but I guess now I gotta play rough." I don't have to wonder what that entails when the thugs undress me.

The ends of my suit come apart; buttons rudely ripped off for my insolence. Fabric betrays my legs. I've never felt air as intensely as I do this frigid atmosphere against my exposed chest and thighs. I brace myself for it. _Rape._ What is a surprisingly grown-up punishment... A method cynically chosen to humiliate as much as it damages. That was my assumption anyway until a cold metal point digs into the dip at the top of my sternum. _A knife._

"What are you doing?" I demand, writhing. _Torture?!_

"Wait," Eclipse interjects, ignoring my question, "The dossier said they had tattoos, where are they? I want to see the tattoos!" He's almost whining. _Tattoos?_ Really? Am I to be taunted with this even in my final moments by someone who isn't even yakuza?

"Sorry - um - _Eclipse_ , he doesn't have any," one of the underlings replies, sounding uncertain how to deal with his cranky boss.

The huffy stomp of a foot. "What kind of 'son of the okashira' doesn't have tattoos?"

" _Thank you_ , someone gets it," I say sarcastically.

"Do you want me to keep going?" the underling asks.

"Just forget it," Eclipse says with attitude, "I'll just find another yakuza _with_ tattoos this time..." His voice starts to sound more distant as he moves away, losing interest.

The underling, completely at a loss now, shouts after him, "There's a naked man on the table, what exactly am I supposed to do here?"

"How should I know?"

And that manages to annoy me. What, I'm not even good enough to kill, just because I don't have _tattoos?_

"Hey, I'm responsible for structuring the yakuza's entire income. They would be underwater in days without me," I argue, "If you were smart, you'd kill me." Because arguing for death is apparently something I do now.

"And if _you_ were smart, you'd shut your mouth, Snow White," he quips. "Just do whatever you want with him, I guess." Well _that's_ easy enough. Everyone wants the same thing, and it starts with dirty thoughts and naughty looks; then graduates to depraved action. When the hands return, they grab at me like they all want a taste.

Eclipse is speaking over a radio, "How many have we got so far? Is it a lot?" he sounds so embarrassingly eager. "Don't take prisoners, take pictures!" His social media page must be... _Interesting_. And on several watchlists.

"Help! _Help me!"_ I shriek loud enough for the radio to catch it. A hopeless thought: _Massimo might hear it,_ but I know he's laid up at the Villa with his injury...

Leaving me to languish under groping, grabbing hands. So many that they can't possibly belong to men - no - they meld together in my mind into a single, slimy beast with a thousand scalding hands, lording over my prone body on the table. I feel each one so intensely that I can almost see them worm through my whited-out field of vision to latch onto my wrists, my hair, thighs and ankles, pulling them apart and leaving cruel marks wherever they go. Fingers dart over chest, making it rise in goosebumps. Still more slide into the valley of supple skin between my upper thigh and crotch. Then an impatient one stands out from the rest: stroking my entrance. I shudder heavily and contract on instinct.

"Stop," I say, but my voice wavers, unimpressive, and cut off anyway by the beast's ravenous lips. It's going to _devour_ me.

It stretches me over the table like fresh prey: my arms back over my head while my legs are splayed out. The violations start small: a finger testing my ring, quickly getting bigger as the beast adds another. Rhythmic thrusting. It found my prostate. My gasp sounds more like a moan as my back arches instinctively.

"Look at him, he's enjoying this," the beast chortles in a dozen voices. A third finger makes an entrance followed by a crass whistle when I take it easily. I grit my teeth and swallow, embarrassed as the beast scissors. "What a slut."

"Shut up!"

"You are so touchy." Eclipse's interest was rekindled like a juvenile browsing porno thumbnails. Judgemental 'tsk-ing' at me. "It's not like we haven't heard the rumors. That ass gets a looot of cocks." He goes on, sing-songing now as if singing a nursery rhyme. "Big cocks, small cocks, pierced cocks, tattooed cocks-" I take it back, I take it all back; I preferred it when he wasn't paying attention to me! A hand chances on one of my nipples and tweaks it, making my face hot. "Black cocks, white cocks... Italian cocks?" But _that_ just makes me tense. "Hey I'm not here to judge." Eclipse simpers. "You have good taste." The fingers in my ass deliver a brutal stab at my hot button; I cry out.

"I mean, there has to be _something_ about them that makes it worth all the embarrassment, right? Why didn't you just have a cover marriage?"

"I did," I say through gritted teeth, "Her name is Cherise."

"Newsflash, smart guy," taunts Eclipse, "For a cover marriage to work, people have to actually _know_ you're married..." In my defense, keeping up pretenses became exhausting between managing cash flows and sourcing surreptitious dick on the side.

The beast is curling its great, meaty fingers. An alarm in my head.

"No, no, no-!" It returns digging an entire fist inside me with little regard for whether it actually fits, and plenty of intent to tear me open if it has to.

 _Broken._ And of course: a monster wouldn't care if it ripped me apart. Incisive pain; it feels as though someone took an axe between my legs and left me to bleed out on the table. The hot wetness there proves it.

"That looked like it hurt," Eclipse comments. The breath on my neck is hot too as he leans in to speak through my agony, "Don't tell anyone, but I have a sweet spot for you, _Jurei._ Now that my darling brother is out of the spotlight, I finally get to come out and play. And I really enjoy playing with you..." His words are childish, but his tone is unsettling. They send a shiver down my spine, chasing the bloodied fist on its way out.

Hands entangle in my hair to wrench me up against a chest. I clutch the cloth of the underling's suit, tense as another takes his place behind me; I'm sandwiched in between. A cock is a relief after the fisting, but that isn't saying a whole lot. Especially when a second one squeezes in rudely next to the first. A moan mixes with a whimper as they clip a particularly ragged edge during their unkind gangbang.

"Slut." A biting indictment is aimed at me anyway.

Just as soon as I've satisfied them and accepted their payment in hot seed, two more eagerly take their place. Then two more and then more, in endless waves of heaving flesh. It goes on for so long that my sight begins to return slowly, revealing more and more of the horrible scene in blurs of black and white. I dig my nails into sweaty skin as I announce another intense but loveless climax. My condolences to that nice suit. Mechanical. My body works, but it isn't _working._

I land on all fours, shoved roughly, then my arms are pinned behind my back. A fat slab of meat pushes at my face until I begrudgingly accept it between my lips, moaning around the girth as another slides in from behind. It feels like beautiful torture. It feels like a cruel _reward_. Taking it on both sides, I'm forced to contend with the fact that this is how I'm going to go: used like a cheap whore with no standards, choking on cock... Someone, somewhere is finding this poetic.

At least, I'm resigned to that fate until I hear _gunfire_. I perk up.

"Who the hell was that?" Eclipse demands, "More yakuza?"

"No." The underling sounds incredulous. "It's... It's _Massimo_ ." My heart pounds: he did hear me! But it sinks just as fast. Romantic, yes, but _don't do something stupid._

"Stop what you're doing immediately!" Massimo bellows, coming up the stairs. Promising start...

Only then do I remember what I'm doing. What Massimo has to see me doing. Embarrassed, I squeeze my eyes shut. My tormentors of course, decided to freeze like a pair of sleazy celebrities who just got caught with their dicks in a 14-year-old. Massimo fell oddly silent.

" _Brother_ ," Eclipse hisses instead. _What_ did he say? I have no time to think about that worrying statement when Massimo lets out an animalistic roar, and then he's just swinging, tearing through the group and shoving mafiosos aside; their shapes like ragdolls in my slowly strengthening vision. They don't fight back; of course, why would they against the son of the don?

Rallied, I bite down, _hard_ on the cock in my mouth. Screaming pierces my ears. He should just feel grateful I left it _attached._ There's blood in my mouth; it tastes better than cum, anyway.

"What are you doing; you're not even supposed to be here!" Eclipse howls in frustration. "You _always_ break my toys!"

"He's not a toy!" Relief envelops me as Massimo finally wraps me up in his arms. Then I hear the cocking of a gun. I know that sound too well.

"What are you going to do, shoot me?" Massimo dares Eclipse; my big, brave - stupid, _very stupid_ \-  hero... I don't need to see to picture his strong jaw set in defiant determination, as his snake bite piercing flaunts the _sexiest_ rebellious streak...

"Oh yeah?" Eclipse says childishly, "What are _you_ going to do, huh? Fight your own family? Your _famiglia?_ "

Massimo replies, almost _smug_ , "I don't have to. Because I just took the old family bike out for a spin all around town, and a whoooole lot of yakuza saw me do it... And they all followed me home." My eyes widen. He had an actual plan? And not only that, it was _smart?_ I must be rubbing off on him, which would not be surprising considering how much of that we do...

"You son of a-!" Almost as if on cue, we hear more gunfire.

"It's- It's yakuza!" An underling quails; Eclipse is yelling,  

"Get up, _get up_! Barricade the door!" Terrified shouting back and forth.

"Come on, we gotta go!" Massimo grabs my hand in the confusion, pulling me off the table. As soon as my feet hit the floor, I wince because of the pain between my legs, but I have to grit my teeth and keep it together. My vision, meanwhile, is blurry, but it will do for now: not exactly high-precision machining vision, but slightly better than vain supermodel who would rather walk into a telephone pole than wear glasses. I whip my head around to try and catch a glimpse of Eclipse.

Surrounded by subordinates wearing expensive Italian labels, he has only a shapeless grey hoodie tossed over his thin torso. That has to be him. _Look at me._ It's as if he heard me when he turns slightly, only just enough for me to stare into an inky, bluish-purple eye just before the door shuts behind us.

Massimo moves a heavy planter in front of the emergency exit to barricade it before he takes my hand again. I squeeze it gratefully as we sprint down the fire escape together.

"You came," I gasp, "I thought you were still recovering!"

"Of course I did!" He squeezes back. "That doctor can take away my salt, but he can't keep me from my sugar." He suddenly spins around and crushes his lips against mine. The spontaneity is one of my favorite things about being with him. I know it's childish. Juvenile. All the things that annoyed me about Eclipse, but I can't help the way my heart flutters when it's with him. I even feel a little light-headed, as if Massimo is sipping on my breath. He remedies that by sweeping me off my feet and sprinting the rest of the way. I rest my head against his chest. This works so much better when it's _his_ brawny arms supporting _my_ dainty weight and not the other way around...

The fire escape dumps us rudely from that halcyon kingdom, population: just us two, into a dreary, nondescript bylane that has probably seen more drugs in the past week than cleaning agents in its entire _existence_. Massimo's motorcycle is parked by the fire escape, looking completely out of place in this dingy atmosphere: it's a muscle machine with better angles than an underwear model, plated in gold. Flying under the radar in that thing is going to be a challenge, although I'm sure it attracted enough attention for the first phase of his plan...

"Here, put this on." Massimo returns my clothes - what's left of them, anyway - before he moves to sling himself on his bike. After I've made the best of my rags, I climb on behind him. "The ambush got out of hand, Jurei. It's not safe here anymore; I have to get you out of mafia territory, _now_ ," he tells me. He's right, of course. It's only a few miles, but I have a feeling we're about to run the gauntlet. I pull out my gun and prepare myself with a deep breath.

"Let's go."

Massimo sticks to the back streets to stay out of trouble, but the sound of fighting is getting louder anyway. His radio sputters to life, _"Cosa nostra, this is your operation leader, Eclipse speaking. Hey, new plan: BRING ME JUREI AKIRA AND MASSIMO D'ORO! AND I WANT THEM ALIVE!"_

"Brothers, am I right?" Massimo says sarcastically.

" _Your_ brothers, maybe..." Bodies and spent casing litter the streets. The walls are splattered in bloody graffiti. "It's a warzone out here..." I wonder aloud. "Where are the police?"

"Won't touch it," he mentions, "They're waiting for us to burn ourselves out before they come mop up."

We drive into a cloud of smoke - I just regained my sight and it's already all but useless again. Shapes hurry through the pale twilight, stirring the clouds into miniature hurricanes in their wake. I recognize the demonic masks of the yakuza melting in and out of the smoke, there and gone again, like spirits wandering the wastes in search of another life. I find myself latching on to Massimo like a child and force my grip to loosen. A shape moves unexpectedly through the fog and I clamp down all over again. I'm not scared, just... Cautious.

Then I catch a glint of metal. A face emerges from the haze: the most detailed thing I've seen since before the grenade, which makes me realize my sight is restored. The face is alien-like with a wet, metallic sheen. Its features are summarized by three expressionless slits: one for each eye and a straight sliver of mouth. _It's a mask._ The golden coat of arms pinned to the lapel of its suit tells me that's a mafioso. A mafioso holding a gun, I've just registered.

"Watch out!" I cry. Massimo ducks on instinct, but it isn't us he's aiming at. Bullets ricochet from the motorcycle chassis. He's trying to shoot out the tires. "Drive, _drive!_ " I shake Massimo into action as he twists the handle sharply.

"If we get caught, it's arrivederci for you!" Massimo says needlessly. I can sense the panic in his voice.

"Then don't. Get. Caught." Already calculating outcomes, my gaze rests on the AR strapped over his back. I lift it and aim over his shoulder. "You just focus on driving. Driving fast."

Aliens and demons chase each other through the streets; I scatter them all with a blanket of suppressing fire and smile as the path before us clears up. That's a highway out of this hell - The sound of an engine - too close for comfort - demands my attention. A second motorcycle pulls level with us. Two blank, tin faces glance over. I'm so sick of double dates. I aim and shoot, but they put on an extra burst of speed and quickly merge into the lane ahead of us.

"Not so fast," I mutter.

"Easy!" Massimo growls as I steady the muzzle over his shoulder; it's hot with use. I squeeze the trigger, but my bullets bounce off the protective cap over the wheel. They abruptly hit the brakes hard. I have to switch to holding on for dear life as Massimo swerves in the narrow space. We scrape against a parked car.

I yelp and lift my leg up sharply out of the way; Massimo weaves ahead of the other motorcycle.

"Are you okay?" he calls, concerned.

"Just keep going!" We just can't stop, no matter what. Twisting around in my seat, I aim behind us. _Rat-a-tat-tat-!_ the rifle drones. Our pursuers tuck themselves easily behind the raised windshield of their vehicle. And it's bulletproof. Typical. "Tch." I make a frustrated noise. "Why don't you have mods like that?" I complain to Massimo.

"Um, excuse me?" he says, "This is a _Ducati;_ you don't disrespect a classy piece of engineering like that."

"Unless it's to plate it in gold like a tacky Vegas pimp," I mutter under my breath.

"Is that you complaining about my gold, babe?" Massimo grins over his shoulder at me. "I don't hear you complaining when you're kissing it." He taps his golden lip rings teasingly.  

"Keep your eyes on the road, goldilocks." But I smile back. I really should have been keeping my eyes on our pursuers too, because they promptly ram us from behind. I jerk forward, grabbing a fistful of Massimo's blazer for support.

"Che palle!" Massimo curses loudly, more in lament of his expensive bike than his pricey boyfriend. "You're killing me here!" Alright, that's it. I unclip my bot bracelet and hold it up, simply letting go. It hits their windshield and explodes into a dozen bots like mites scurrying over the dark glass. I hear muffled yelling behind the tin masks as they flail wildly to. That's just a happy bonus. My cracked phone directs the bots to my real target: the motorcycle's fuel tank which they promptly puncture with needlepoint legs. Bleeding fuel, they quickly fall behind, shooting spiteful but impotent bullets in our wake.

"Nice one!" My sexy boyfriend snickers. I squeeze him in response, burying my face in his back. _Take me home..._ "We're almost there," he goes on as if I said it out loud, "Just a little further and-" He turned the corner and went abruptly silent. _What now?_ I lift my head to see.  
A great hulk of a man in the middle of a street heaped with bodies and drenched with blood. He wears a gas mask and the sleeves of his grey, pinstripe suit are ripped off to reveal quivering, muscular arms that can't possibly be _natural_. Resting in his paws is a military grade mini gatling gun that few can lift, let alone wield, but he carries it as easily as I might carry my glock. My eyes widen as they travel over the dimly buffed metal surface of all six of its heavy-duty rotary barrels. The devil is in the details of cosa nostra's ties with the arms dealers. But for now, he stands eerily still.

"Torre bronzo," Massimo whispers under his breath as if scared he might hear us, "A bronze rook."

"He's just... _Staring_ ," I say, tense.

"Maybe he can't see us if we stay perfectly still..."

"I don't think it works like that." The rook proves me right when he raises his weapon. It stares us down with the six hollow eyes of its barrels, then makes a horrible clinking whirr getting louder and louder as it starts to spin.

"He can see us! He can see us!" Massimo is yelling. He revs the motorcycle; we take off, but not fast enough. The terrifying _pop_ of the wheels, ripped through by bullets resonates in my head moments before the vehicle swerves out of control. It smashes against a car, spilling us both onto the street. An arm locks around my middle. Massimo drags me behind a parked car without a moment to spare as gunfire peppers the spot.  

Bullets drum against the other side of the car, rattling my brain around in my head until the noise dies down. _Your move,_ the silence seems to say.

"Is he _insane?!_ " I burst out, "You're the don's son and he's going to get you killed!"

Massimo moans, "You honestly believe he cares about that? He's so fucked up on aether red, he can't tell his penis from his ammo clip. So yeah, one of your bright ideas would be really great right about now," Massimo says nervously, daring to peek around the car.

The motorcycle is trashed: we're not getting out that way. I scan the corpses littered at the side of the road: mostly yakuza. Mostly shot in the back. They were running, like us, but with less luck. Although perhaps I should reserve judgement on that until later... I notice the radio at the yakuza's belt and light up.

"Get me to that radio," I say quickly. Massimo follows my gaze and runs his tongue over his lips nervously.

"I have an idea," he says at length.

"And that's a problem because?"

"It's not a good one." Without further explanation, Massimo pops up over the roof of the car and calls between cupped hands: "Ey, Porco! This way!"

"Max!" I grab at him, but he breaks free and runs in the opposite direction to draw the rook's fire. He's going to get himself killed! I turn to the radio- and that's our only chance! With Massimo keeping our assailant distracted, I dart toward the radio, scoop it up and press the button in the same movement.

"This is Jurei; I need backup. I'm on 7th and Spiaggia; we're pinned down by a bronze rook. I repeat, 7th and Spiaggia-" I cast a hasty glance over the hood of the car. The bronze rook has Massimo trapped behind another car, but this time he's slowly pressing forward, getting closer. The windows shatter, coming down in a rain of glass. The rook reaches forward and outright tears one of the car doors off its hinges. _He's unstoppable._ My eyes are already wide.

"Please hurry," I breathe into the radio.

Massimo springs up in a desperate attempt to flee, but before he can, the rook shoves the whole car, pinning him in place against the opposite wall.

"Ah!" I hear him cry out. He looks up in terror and I'm on my feet in a second, sprinting. I don't know what I can do, but I'm going to do it anyway!

A purple figure suddenly vaults over the wall behind Massimo's head and drops a crushing downward heel directly over the top of the bronze rook's head. The giant staggers backward, clutching his head as the samurai unfurls on the street in front of him, wielding a pair of gleaming katanas. It's _Mother_. Her blade strikes the minigun lifted in defense and the second one leaves a ragged gash across the rook's chest, revealing a sliver of the bulletproof vest under the already burgeoning suit.

"Now, Himawari!" she cries, keeping him on the backfoot. I turn quickly to see Himawari round the corner at a breakneck pace, sharp needles layered between her fingers. The fletching on the ends is grey, indicating their purpose: sleep darts.

"Lights out!" They find their mark, burying themselves deep in his burly arms like porcupine quills. _Victory!_ Is what the look on her face says, fading slowly when she realizes the rook doesn't do so much as flinch. He notices one, it seems, completely by accident and picks it out. The dart falls to the floor. "It's not working!" she gasps. Mother grits her teeth.

"Don't let him fire!" Because then, we're all screwed. She keeps up the barrage while Himawari runs annoying interruption like a mosquito buzzing around the rook's head. It might seem like they're not doing anything useful - and they aren't making headway - but they are keeping him busy for now. Question is: how long can they keep it up?

Mother sees an opportunity and slits one of the ammo bands strapped around the rook's torso. When he turns to look, she's already taken that second of distraction to cut the other one. Himawari scoops them both up on the way past, then scampers through the closing loop of the rook's arms, leaving him grasping at air. She drapes the massive ammo clips around herself like a sash and poses jokingly, a hand on her barely existent hip.

"What do you think, Mirai, do I look like a beauty queen?" She fluffs her imaginary, big pageant hair and pushes out her lower lip. Mother tilts her head to a side.

"In Texas, maybe."

She doesn't move fast enough this time. The rook just _swings_ the minigun like a baseball bat, knocking her clean into Himawari. They hit the street hard, rolling over the pavement. Mother groans as she struggles to her hands and knees; immediately grabbing at her ribs, but I've just heard a far more alarming sound. The minigun roaring to life for one last blitzkrieg.  

"Watch out!" I shout a warning, but a louder voice drowns me out.

"Don't chase rainbows unless you can handle the _rain!_ " Rinko drops out of the sky like a sudden downpour from atop one of the buildings and latches her legs tightly around the bronze rook's head. He can't see or dislodge Rinko's thighs of steel from around his face, stumbling back and forth while the minigun fires at random. I drop back behind the car for shelter while Mother and Himawari scatter.

A feminine shout makes my blood run cold, but I'm relieved to see that it was Himawari and not Kaa-san who caught the stray bullet. Then I'm guilty for that thought. But only a little. Mother is less relieved.

"Himawari!" she cries. Meanwhile, the bronze rook has latched onto Rinko's red curls of hair, using it as leverage to tear the shrieking woman from his shoulders. The rook acts on brutal instinct when he swings her head into a car as if to silence her. It works partially. The second blow finishes the job. The metal of the car is streaked with blood; I make a horrible realization: _he's going to kill her._ When suddenly, an inconvenient pair of katanas make their presence known, impaled through his middle.

The bronze rook stares at them for a long while, uncomprehending, until he finally makes the connection, dropping the limp form of Rinko to face my mother. She's unarmed, but so is he as he drops his depleted minigun. He still has her outgunned. A brutal punch sends Mother to the street.

"Kaa-san!" I shout as the bronze rook lunges on top of her to finish the job- or... No. He crawls over her prone body, but he moves slowly as if scanning every inch of her form and committing it to memory. When he reaches the end of his brief expedition, their faces are just inches apart. Her soft greys and the soulless eyeholes of his gas mask. Perhaps he's registered in his drug-fueled haze somehow that she's a woman.

Mother brings a hand up slowly to release his mask. It slides away from a cratered face covered in scars. A mouth missing teeth. Her eyes widen as she touches one of his cheeks, fascinated.

Distracting him just long enough for Himawari to spring onto his broad back. "Sorry, but you're definitely not her type." She plunges two fists of needles through his throat, effectively cross-hatching his windpipe. The bronze rook lets out a choked noise, then gurgles blood and collapses, making Mother gasp and slap her hands against his shoulders.

Himawari helps her out while I ease Massimo from his own metal deathtrap.

"Are you okay?"

"Forget about me, what about you?" Mother looks over Himawari's injuries, concerned.

"It's just a scratch." The yellow-haired woman winces as she turns her thin arm to study the bullet embedded there. With a sigh, Mother unfurls her hair ribbon in a waterfall of silky purple hair. She winds it smartly around Himawari's arm and pulls it taut.

"Keep pressure on that," she instructs. Rinko is going to need a lot more than pressure. Mother doesn't say anything out loud but I see the worry on her face as she hovers over the unconscious woman. "We have to get her medical attention, but it isn't safe here in mafia territory." Speaking of which... She looks distrustfully at Massimo as I lead him over.

"Wait," Mother says sharply, "That's Lazarre's boy; what is he doing here?"

"I..." While he fumbles, I've already come up with a lie.

"He was caught in the crossfire." I do it as easily as I breathe, too.

"Well that's what happens when you pump human beings full of poison to do your dirty work! He wasn't a man to you; just a tool!" She punctuates her scathing judgement by picking up the rook's mask and tipping it. Aether red spills out in a stream like red sand from an hourglass. Massimo stares at it as if he's never seen his family's methods before. Then her katana is at his throat and my heart is in mine.

"Give me one good reason not to slit your throat," Mother hisses.

"He can help us get out of here. As a hostage," I say, fighting to maintain a cool demeanor.  

Her gaze does not soften by a single degree. She still looks dead serious when she says, "My son is too smart and adorable for his own good. You are a very, _very_ lucky man today."

"You know, I _really_ am." Massimo can't help a cheesy grin. I roll my eyes. With that, Mother curtly resheathes both her swords in the same fluid movement and turns her attention to Rinko, gathering her up in her arms.

"Let's move quickly. We don't have much time."

The remainder of the journey to the Harm's Way border is fairly uneventful, if longer without a vehicle to help us along. I would assume that we're the first to get past the bronze rook's corridor of death.

I never thought I'd be so overjoyed to see the disgusting, gummy pavement of Harm's Way.

"There it is!" I hate to dampen Mother's enthusiasm but I place a hand on her shoulder, halting her before she runs headlong into the street because I think I saw something... A metallic glint along the rooftops. _It can't be..._ It had better not be. There's only one way to find out. Receding behind a corner, I watch the eerily abandoned street patiently. I don't need to wait long when a yakuza member bursts out on the street from the other side of the border. Panting, running wildly in a mad dash for the safety of the yakuza side of the line. A gunshot. He goes from running for his life to falling backward in a moment.

The man drops to the street and stays there, oddly still as a puddle of blood stretches under his head. _Goddammit._

"Sterling bishops," I say aloud. Sure enough, there they are, perched in a row on the rooftops like crows guarding a cemetery of their own making. The silver plague doctor masks they wear lend them avian countenances: long, slightly curved beaks protruding between a pair of beady goggles and shaded by a dark fedora. A polished silver sniper rifle lies over each trench coat-clad shoulder. The best shooters in the mafia.

The sterling bishops are positioned along the yakuza side of the border, strategically placed to pick off retreating yakuza.

" _Eclipse!_ " I curse the name under my breath.  

"They will wipe out half the clan at this rate," Mother says, hushed.

"What if we just ran across, like, _really fast_ ," suggests Himawari, illustrating by making a swoop with her hand.  

I shake my head. "Even if we could do that - which we can't - we have to do something about the snipers or never mind us: _no one_ is going to make it back to the Pagoda alive."

"Why don't we just ask _this one_ to call them off?" Mother jerks a thumb at Massimo who holds up his hands.

"Hey, I don't have my radio on me."

She points at the radio hanging at his belt. "Oh yeah, well what's that, then?"  

He falters. "Nooooo, that's a... A bomb," he says flatly. Mother's hand drops out of the air.

"Should we be concerned about that?"

"No, he's just an idiot," I mutter distractedly as I stare at the raven men high up on their perches. "Good thing I'm not."

 

I step out onto the desolate street of Harm's Way, instantly feeling exposed from every conceivable angle. Then again, that's what Harm's Way does best. Wrapping my coat more tightly around myself against the chill, I look up at the sniper rifles trained on me. They don't pull the triggers, watching me carefully through their scopes.  

"Yeah, it's me, Jurei," I say. No movement save for a single bishop who cocks his head sharply to a side, like a creepy, overgrown bird in man's clothing. "You want to shoot me, but you can't because you have orders to take me alive, don't you?" My lips tweak into a smile. "Well don't say you didn't have your chance." At that, I spread my arms wide. 24-karat grenades - the very same ones that Eclipse used to blind me - tumble from inside my coat, all armed already. In the next instant, I spin around and drop into a crouch, squeezing my eyes shut and shielding myself with my coat, but it's too late for the sterling bishops, who were all watching me so intently at the precise moment the grenades go off in unison.

By the time it's safe to look, the bishops are rolling on the rooftops and clawing at their eyes. A sniper without his vision is worthless: threat neutralized.

"Hurry!" I wave my mother and Himawari through, then grab Massimo's hand and pull. "Come on, we did it," I say excitedly. He doesn't budge. Oh right... I stop and take his other hand too, holding them gently. "I'll find you when it's quieter, Max." There's that familiar longing in his eyes. Massimo is a puppy trapped in a big man's body, now folding himself as if to be smaller again.

"Don't look like that," I chuckle softly. "We did it." But to him, being in mortal peril with me is better than being safe and alone.

"Ti amo," he says forlornly.

"Ai shiteru." We understand each other perfectly as our lips meet. It's never long enough. I make my way quickly across Harm's Way, speaking into my radio, "If anyone's still listening, retreat now while you can." Letting my finger slip from the button, I turn slightly to catch one glimpse of my lover if I can. But that's not what I get.

My breath catches in my throat. The teenager on the other side of the street stares at me with unsettling, dark eyes.

"Eclipse..." escapes my lips in a murmur. The grey hoodie breezes around his thin frame and light blonde hair sticks out from under it to frame his face. He just stands there, as if unable to cross the border between us. Conceding defeat, _just this once_ , like a surprisingly good sport for the mafia brat he is... Eclipse languidly blows a pink bubble of bubblegum to a somewhat impressive diameter between his lips before it pops over his mouth. I narrow my eyes but he makes no move to clean it; instead he peels something from his pocket and holds it up where I can see. My eyes widen slightly because it's one of my tracking stickers from the aether red shipment. Even more confusing is what he does with it: Eclipse smoothes the sticker onto his hoodie, right over his heart. His eyes crinkle with amusement at my baffled expression before he simply swivels on a heel and returns to mafia territory, teasing the gum out on a finger as he goes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A nod to another sterling sniper I happen to like very much...
> 
> Woohoo, halfway point! If you haven't already, don't forget to show a little support, and hey, don't think I don't notice those kudos - you guys are the best. If you can, leave a comment too! I'm always incorporating your feedback to learn and grow as a writer.
> 
> Remember you can always find my update schedule on my [profile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KassiopeiaX/profile) (I'm pretty good at sticking to it too...)
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!
> 
> -KassiopeiaX


	7. Shot Glass Decisions

The sky is falling. I dodge chunks of it as I sprint through the hallway avoiding grieving widows, fathers and brothers. My destination is the meeting room. There are already silhouettes stirring across the screen door like furious hornets in the yellowish light. The noises from within are loud - _angry_ \- as voices run together in an incomprehensible buzz. I'd hate to disturb a nest that I kicked already, but I need to kick it again. The screen door loudly scrapes the railing as I shove it aside and burst into the room. Nobody is sitting down.

" _Eclipse!_ " The word leaves me in a gasp. "This was all his doing!" Sweeping the room, I see blank faces. Zero recognition.  

"You!" Uncle Katsuo is more concerned with me as he points a fat, accusing finger. "You've got a lot of nerve coming here, kuuhaku!" The word riles me up because it's just another way to disregard me- and we really can't afford to be disregarding the smartest man in the room right now. I open my mouth to defend myself,

"Don't call him that!" Keiichi beats me to it. I blink, surprised, at my older brother. "He's _alive_ , and that's what matters." There's fury in his dark eyes, which evaporates by the time they land on me. "You're alive..." he echoes. Before I know it, he's wrapped his arms around me in a way that is uncharacteristically warm for a yakuza heir. Stunned, my hands hover in his general vicinity. Over his shoulder, I see Otou-san's severe gaze burning into Keiichi's back. I wrap my arms around him in return as if to shield him.

Once I've absorbed enough strength from his embrace, I let go and address the gathering, "Don Lazarre has another heir. They call him Eclipse, but I suspect it may be a codename. He knew exactly when we were going to strike and where- I have no choice but to conclude that there really is a mole in the Pagoda, working with the mafia."

"Fairytales!" Uncle spits. "You can make up all the stories you want; it won't make you look good by comparison." Even Keiichi looks uncertain.

"Listen to me," I say, clenching my teeth slightly, "Those weren't just encounters; they were calculated _ambushes._ Precious few of us knew about the plan within a timeframe that would have given the mafia long enough to organize a counterattack like that."

"So who did?" Keiichi plays along and asks.

"Well, for starters, everyone in this room." An ominous silence falls over the gathering.

"The last thing we need right now is to be divided by groundless suspicions." My father speaks up. He doesn't do so often, but when he does, everyone else shuts up. I thought I wouldn't, but I falter when I look into his shadowy gaze. The tattoos on his skull give his head an intimidating profile under the close-shaved stubble of his hair, and his expression doesn't help. "You can't just come in here and make accusations like that at a time like this unless you have evidence strong enough to implicate an Akira." His brow furrows more deeply as he reminds me, "And an Akira does not flip lightly on his clan."

"Otou-san," I begin in a pleading tone.

"Do you have evidence?"

"I-"

" _Do_ you?"

"No, not yet." I'm forced to admit, lowering my head.

"Besides, Jurei-san, that still wouldn't explain how the don hid an heir from us for this long." That voice is much younger than the ones I am used to hearing in this room. I look immediately to see Michio in the meeting room. _Michio._

"Hold on, I'm going to try something." I hold up a hand, then turn around and walk back to the door. I pause there before turning around and retracing my steps, resetting the setting as if that might fix what's wrong with this picture.

But no. The lanky, teenage form of Michio is still here.

"What is he doing here?" I demand. "He's just a _child!_ " My feet only crossed that threshold a few short years ago, and I am still not invited to most of the meetings. I _earned_ this room; I earned it with seniority, what did he ever do?!

"Jurei." Otou-san silences me. I drop my pointing finger obediently and since I can't wipe the indignant expression from my face, I lower it out of sight instead. Otou-san speaks in a threatening tone of voice. "Michio is here because he has earned his place at the table. Are you questioning my judgement?"

"No, Okashira-san; of course not," I say quietly.

"Then maybe you should focus on telling us why your mission ended in such spectacular failure. People are dead because of you, Jurei."

My eyes widen. On the defensive, "I-It wasn't me, I told you: it was _Eclipse_ . It wasn't _me_."

"And yet we are currently picking through the very real aftermath of your little battle of wits."

" _I_ wouldn't lose a battle of wits with some child," I hiss, "He has an informant, and I'll prove it."

"Until you can, I think you had better leave." Dismissed again, like a mere child myself. But before I can storm off, a hand locks down on my shoulder.

"No," says Keiichi, facing our father. "You may not agree with what he has to say, but Jurei has earned a place at this table too. What he achieved was nothing short of incredible: a complete map of cosa nostra's aether dens in a fraction of the time it would have taken for our intelligence to do the same." They accept that at least, with begrudging silence if nothing else. Keiichi continues, "But we were wrong to rely solely on him. There were precautions we could have taken, strategy we should have employed - our haste was what caused this: now we have to solve it together."

I almost can't believe it: Keiichi sounds like a leader, and he's sticking up for me, but... _why?_ His change of heart suddenly feels ominous as I look around the room. Something is wrong. There's something missing. I realize that my seat is prime property: two seats down from my father. It finally dawns on me.

"Where is Yosuke?" I ask. My uncles murmur uncertainly. The pained look on Keiichi's face is the quickest answer. "No-" I breathe low, then say louder, "Is he dead?"

"We don't have news yet. But he hasn't returned."  

"No, no, _no..._ " I moan repeatedly, burying my face in my hand.

"These over-processed schemes are getting us nowhere," My uncle interrupts, "We can win the war with drivebys and encounters, the way we always have," he says to a room of nods and murmured agreements. Visions of the whirling gatling gun fill my head. I can almost hear the terrifying, metallic clinking reverberating in my ears.

"If you try to defeat the mafia with strength alone, we will all die." I uncover the fatal flaw in their plan.

"Then we won't give them the time or opportunity to organize a full-scale attack," says Keiichi, "We'll employ targeted attacks on high-profile lieutenants." _But you'll never get Lazarre that way._ I don't say it out loud, perhaps out of a newfound respect for my brother.

"Then it's decided," my father says, "For now, we count the dead, comfort the grieving, and compose vengeance." He's about to dismiss the meeting when the shoji opens again. Jiji wheels himself into the room. A delicate branch of golden-orange bougainvillea lies across his atrophied lap.

"What did I miss?" he asks lightly.

"All of it," Father mutters.  

"Gomen nasai. It just seemed like such a good day to visit the family graves." Everyone watches him roll to the front of the room. He lays the papery flowers on the table. "Especially considering there are bound to be so many more very soon."

"Crazy old man..."

Keiichi looks at me with concern as we filter from the room together. He spins around to stop me in the hall.

"Are you okay? You're not hurt, are you? Did you have a doctor examine you?"

"I did," I say, but I let him take my hand for a second opinion. He folds my crisp white sleeve and cringes at the particularly bad case of road rash along my forearm. I received that when we were tipped from Massimo's motorcycle. "I thought you, at least, were safe. If I had known, I would never have left your side."

"I can take care of myself, Nii-san."

"I know you can. But it's my duty to look after you. And sometimes... I forget that." My eyes wander to the bright green, leafy tips of Keiichi's bamboo tattoos which just peek from under his tailored sleeves. _'What kind of son of the okashira doesn't have tattoos?'_

"Jurei, you're bleeding."

"Huh?" I blink. He isn't looking at my arm anymore. I trace his gaze lower - _too low_ \- to a dark red stain like a river running down the inseam of my pant leg. I stare at it in horror because I thought it would fix itself. Overwhelming embarrassment follows the realization as I stand with my legs closer together.

"I-It's nothing, it doesn't even hurt," I stammer out a lie, my face burning. I don't want him to know what they did to me. Would he assume that I enjoyed it? I clarify desperately, "I struggled."

Keiichi's strong brow furrows in confusion. "Jurei..."

"I didn't want to enjoy it." Sharp stinging at my eyes, which I blink away. The confession comes out: "But I came anyway." Keiichi wraps an arm around my head and hugs it to his chest.

He sounds baffled when he speaks, "Why would that matter? You told me you met with the doctor."

"I did." _But I was too ashamed to bring it up._ And he didn't check. Don't ask. Don't tell. Keiichi seems to have read my mind; he falls silent for a while. At length, he says quietly,

"This is my fault, isn't it?" Then my brother is leading me briskly down the corridor, to the hospital wing inundated with injured yakuza.

This place is a warzone. Stretchers strobe through my vision as nurses chase doctors, shouting questions at deaf ears. Yelling and pounding feet form the constant background music and the distraught wailing of yakuza wives is the chorus. Suddenly, I'm grateful for Keiichi's presence: I don't want to face this fallout alone. _It wasn't me._

"My eyes! I can't see!" A shriek nearby rattles me. The owner clutches his face as he writhes on the stretcher. An oni mask lies discarded on the tiled floor. Another victim of a 24-karat grenade, which is clearly a favorite of Eclipse's armory. A memory returns: of a blank wall of white between me and the outside world. Locking me in my own head where there was nothing but my own frantic thoughts and terrified breathing. Restless, I squeeze the fabric of my pant leg then release and squeeze again as if counting my heartbeats in thread counts. _It was Eclipse._  

Keiichi shouts impressively over the din, "What kind of quack would leave my brother bleeding out in a hall?! I need a doctor here, and I need one _now!_ " The doctors on staff scramble. One of them separates from the group to hurry over.

"You're going to give him the care he deserves this time," Keiichi growls a threat at the already-stressed doctor.

"Yes, Keiichi-san, I'll take care of it," the doctor replies hastily as he helps me into a stretcher and draws the curtain for privacy. My brother looks at me with a softer gaze - slightly sad. "I'm going to ask around about Yosuke. Sit tight. Or- don't." He palms his forehead slightly. "Bad choice of words. I'll just go."

"Nii-san." Before he can, I reach out and grab his wrist. Wrapped tightly around his sinewed arm, I touch my forehead to it reverently. I whisper, "Thank you." But it sounds all choked up. A comforting hand lands in my hair and then he is gone.

Everyone is worried about Yosuke, and of course they are. He is that golden ratio of powerful and charismatic, unburdened by the difficult decisions that Keiichi or Father have to make. That's why he's everyone's favorite person, more a celebrity than a political figure. I can hear it in their hushed whispers and see it in their expressions: they resent me for putting him in danger. But don't they see that he's my brother first? Yosuke never lorded his seniority in the clan over me. He shielded me from Keiichi's disapproval. The memory of his encouraging smile makes my eyes sting. What good is this brain if it can't save him?

As soon as the doctor finishes his work, I'm already on my feet, testing myself to see how quickly I can leave again. Keiichi finds me, pushing through the curtain.

"You look much better," he comments.

I use the railing of the stretcher for support. "Have you heard news of Yosuke?"

"His target was deep inside mafia territory... It might take longer for us to hear more."

"Either that or we never will."

" _Jurei._ "

"What?" Pushing off from the railing, I wobble a little but ultimately hold steady. I say bitterly, because it's easier than being hopeful, "For all we know, Yosuke is already dead-" I pull the curtain sharply to a side. My eyes widen.

A woman stands behind the curtain, her thin hand raised as if she was about to move it herself. Her long, tousled hair is forest green and pulled back into a half-up, half-down style. I stand frozen before Yosuke's mother.

"Yoko!" Keiichi bursts out. "You weren't supposed to hear that..."

Her brown eyes are wide behind a pair of glasses perched on her nose. Thin lips tremble the word, "Clearly."

"I'll let you know as soon as we learn more," he assures her.

"I understand." Yoko is curt, quickly spinning on a heel to return the way she came, kimono fluttering behind her.

Keiichi punches me in the arm; I rub it as he hisses at me,

"Why would you say something like that?"

"We were both thinking it," I mutter.

"Well I'm not the one who just told a woman that her son is dead." He is right: having Yoko find out this way is... Regrettable. I could go after her and try to comfort her. Or I could do her one better and find her son.

I make my way back to my room, mind racing. I could search with my aerial drones, I just had the lenses replaced. Gripping the screen door, I pull it aside and stop dead in my tracks.

A bare back, lily white. Golden-blonde ringlets tumble over the curved surface, bouncing jauntily above a plump ass. Black leather intertwines with ivory limbs. Yosuke is seated in my desk chair, head tilted up at the ceiling as he lets out a throaty noise to join the feminine moaning that fills the room. The long white mane of his mask pulled up on his head trails dramatically over the back of my chair. His gloved hands are locked around Cherise's hips as she bobs in his lap.

"You're in my room!" I blurt out; they latch onto each other. Slamming the door, I whip around and press my back to the screen as my heart pumps wildly. _Wait a second-_ I throw it open again and shout, "You're in _my wife!_ "

"Oh my god, oh my god," Cherise whispers breathlessly, her face buried in her hands. Yosuke holds up a hand in alarm.

"It's not what it looks like!" He and Cherise exchange glances. "Okay, it is what it looks like, but let's talk about this!"

I yell at him. "Are you seriously trying to _handle me_ right now?!" Like he handles the lieutenants; like he handles the entire clan with his cheesy grins and extrovert charms?!

"We thought you were-" Cherise leaves that sentence unfinished because the entire thing would have sounded much, much worse. The two of them are hastily getting to their feet, pulling on clothes in a hurry as I storm into the room.

"You didn't even wait until my body was cold before you decided to screw my wife," I say incredulously. He glances at me with regretful eyes. Then my own widen in realization. "This isn't the first time."

"Jurei, we were going to tell you," he says apologetically, "Cherise and I-"

"No!" I cut him off. The mental images are disgusting enough without elaboration. "I don't want to hear it... Do you have any idea how _selfish_ you are? Everyone out there is worried about you!"

"I was just-"

"Sneaking in quickies while Keiichi is losing his mind trying to find you?!" Yosuke stumbles backward as I push him in the chest with all my strength. That felt good. "I just told your mother that you might be _dead!_ " I shove him again, but this time he grabs both my wrists. His gaze is angry now.

"You told her _what?_ How could you do that? You know how she gets!"

I get on my tiptoes, in his face. "So do you, and yet you're still standing here," I say darkly. Swearing at me, Yosuke drops my hands and brushes aggressively past. "Get out of my room!" I shout after him anyway, "And take _that_ with you!" I point accusingly at Cherise. Her fair skin is flushed bright red as Yosuke yanks her along.  

Still fuming, I hear the door shut behind me. I nearly make the mistake of sitting down, but stop myself - hovering halfway over my chair. My trusty chair which just cradled my brother's naked butt. It must go. The despoiled chair complains loudly at the rough treatment as I drag it to the window. With strength I didn't know I had, I jettison the entire thing into the hydrangea bushes outside and slam the window so hard that the panes tremble in fear. I glare at the rest of my furniture distrustfully. Knowing my brother's sexual appetite, 75% of the rest should be outside too. I might as well just burn the whole room down and start over!

Panting, I let my palms come down to rest on my desk. Maybe everyone was right about me: a madman of medium intellect shrieking wolf over nonexistent threats while his brother fucks his wife behind his back. I fetch my phone.

Massimo picks up on the first ring.

 _"Are you okay; did you make it home safe?"_ he demands in the same breath.

"I'm fine," My answer comes out rough. "I called because I need information. Tell me everything you know about Eclipse." Silence prevails on the other end for a long time until I think I might have lost signal. "Max?"

_"You know I can't tell you that."_

"Why not?" I demand sharply.

 _"You know why too."_ I know; of course I do. But since when does _he_ know that?

I fake a convincing whimper. "They're saying he might have killed _Yosuke._ Are you saying you won't help me avenge my own brother?"

 _"I'm sorry."_ What do you mean it didn't work? And now I'm just stunned. When did he turn into such a shrewd army captain when he's supposed to be a big, fluffy moron?

"He had his men _rape_ me," I remind him.

_"You need to stay away from him, Jurei; he's dangerous."_

"And you aren't?" I challenge.

_"Do you think I want to be in this situation? Everything was so much easier before!"_

"For you, maybe!" I lose my temper in an instant. "I've always had it harder! My family has _always_ been harder on me!"

_"Oddio, Jurei, you know that isn't fair-"_

"Look, this couldn't be simpler," I cut him off impatiently. "You set him up. I'll send a driveby- problem solved."

_"Except you just asked me to collude in the assassination of my own brother."_

"It's not collusion, it's just-"

 _"Then what IS it, Jurei?"_ he demands.

I burst out. "I'm asking for your _help!_ "

 _"And I can't help you."_ My eyes widen in disbelief at his flat-out refusal. _"What am I supposed to do here, coniglietto?"_  

I hold the mic close to my lips and hiss, "Why don't you go ask your _daddy?_ " As I hang up, the screen goes black, reflecting my own face back at me: shattered by the broken screen. I find myself pushing the jagged edges together as if they might just magically bond with each other and solve all my problems while they're at it. Stinging pain. I stare at the papercut-sized slit on my fingertip.

Desperate and chairless, I drop to my haunches and root around in the spare electronic parts under my desk until I find a bottle, shoved all the way to the back where I tried to hide it from myself. In hindsight, that wasn't a very sound strategy. I was probably drunk when I came up with it. Lifting the bottle to the table, I fill a shot glass with a trembling hand, then knock it back and return immediately for a refill.

_One, two, nobody loves you,_

_Three, four, should never have opened that door,_

_Five six_ , _and I feel sick,_

_Seven, eight- I'm about to make a mistake._

I lash out and drag my phone back towards myself.

 

###

 

A solitary street light illuminates the sleek, jet black motorcycle parked behind the Pagoda. Damon flips lazily through his phone, one hand shoved in his pocket as he leans against the vehicle. He straightens up when he sees me coming.

"I got your text." He grins as he looks me up and down eagerly. I toss my purple hair and smile back at him, seductively lowering my lids. I know I'm driving him wild with my slutty, frayed off shorts and knee-high boots, the space between connected only with gaping white fishnet that would make a hooker blush. A choker dangerously resembling a collar crowns my revealing crop top. I used to dress like this every night... Back when I was his.

"Oh _Rei_ ," Damon growls and I don't stop him this time. "You're back." He pulls me in for the pregame, lips entangled with mine as he drinks my breath. When he breaks off, he looks intoxicated already.  
"Drunk. My favorite flavor," he says. I slide into the seat of his motorcycle and invitingly pat the black leather in front of me. Damon can't help but steal another quick kiss before he hops on excitedly; the motorcycle bobs.

"Where we headed, Angel?"

Sliding my arms around him, I breathe hotly in his ear, "Somewhere with a lot of booze." Then take the lobe between my teeth and bite playfully. "And a _lot_ of sex..."

"My kind of place, then." He sounds as though he can scarcely believe his luck. The engine roars to life; we speed off into the night.

I lay my cheek against the monogrammed letters on the back of Damon's black jacket: 'CPD'. His badge glints bright silver on his chest. Damon has no issue wearing the family honor on his sleeve while he scandalizes it. In fact, I think that's the part he enjoys the most about his reckless lifestyle. Well... Almost as much as this part. I grab his zipper and drag it slowly downward, peeling the ends of his jacket away from the thin v-neck shirt he wears underneath. The jacket flutters in the wind like his short black hair, which I spare a second to rake my fingers through before returning to his firm chest.

I feel up the toned abs under his shirt, excited. Catching his grin in the side mirror, I wander to his chest and flick a nipple. His heart races beneath my fingers; he's so fucking hot for this.

"Tease," he growls. I'll show him a tease! I slip a hand into Damon's pants and find his sizeable tool. He moans as I jerk him off, agonizingly slow.

"Faster," he begs.

"You first," I whisper.

Damon slams the police sirens; they wail deafeningly loudly as I stare, dazzled, into flashing red and blue. He abruptly guns the engine, meeting the speed limit, topping it and then pushing straight on through for some kind of record. Damon manoeuvers like a dream as he swerves through traffic, wildly unsafe but somehow always in control. An indignant honk blares in our ears. Damon flips out his handgun and lodges a couple of complaints in the hood of the car without missing a beat. All I hear is screaming now. I let out a burst of inappropriate laughter, but then I have to clap a hand over my mouth to fight down a sudden wave of nausea. Motion sickness or alcohol poisoning; it's hard to tell at this point.

Damon glances up at a rapidly approaching red light threatening to ruin our joyride. I see it in his eyes: the faintest consideration of stopping. I wrap my arms around him and my legs around his waist, locked on like a clingy boyfriend. Then I'm back in his pants, pumping fast, egging him on. My hand is already slick with pre.

"Officer _Black_ ," I gasp into his ear. "Do it." That's all the convincing he needs.

"Hold on tight!" Damon blows through the light. The wheels screech against black pavement as he twists right into oncoming traffic. My own violet hair whaps me in the face; I have to spit it out and messily rake the rest out of the way as I scream at the top of my lungs, dissolving quickly into sozzled-sounding laughter. Damon's cock throbs in my hand as the city lights pulse by like the beats on an EKG. Honking cars howl past. _We're going to die._ A cold, sobering thought spills into my good mood. I don't _want_ to think! But the dam is cracked wide open now.

_You're being cucked by your brother._

_So you're cheating on your boyfriend._

_And now you're trying to kill yourself._

_Because you killed ALL THOSE PEOPLE._

I dig my nails into Damon's chest, drawing a ragged breath. "Make it go away," I beg him quietly. Did he hear me? The city whirls through my vision too quickly all of a sudden, so I squeeze my eyes shut.

"Rei?" Damon calls, strained. My grip on his dick has become uncomfortably tight. He veers suddenly. The entire motorcycle tosses violently as he hits the divider, nearly throwing me off, but we come down on the other side. The right side. I take my hand back, shaking as it drips his seed, staring at it in horror. I don't know what else to do, so I fellate my fingers desperately, trying to get clean again.

We roll to a stop in front of Damon's favorite nightclub. 'Chimaera,' the sign says in colorful neon. It buzzes and occasionally gives off sparks. If it was my first time here, I might have thought it was broken, but it _definitely_ isn't my first time here. Memories flood my brain as I stare up at the seedy, black exterior of the club. Muffled music pounds against my head like the beating of an ominous drum. How many times have I nearly _died_ in there?

Damon must have seen the hesitation on my face, because he wrestles me down to the seat of the motorcycle while I let out short, sharp cries and kick out at the air. No one hears me. Handcuffs clamp down around my wrists, a junior size, because he knows from experience that those are the only kind I can't slip out of. Strung from his handlebars, I make frustrated noises without words as he digs into his pocket to produce an aether gun.

When I asked him to take it away, I didn't mean like _that._

"Noooo," I moan. Wetness courses down my cheeks, but I already know: the point of no return was before I hit 'send' on that needy text. I shriek again anyway. My leg trapped in fishnet drags against his crinkly, insulated police jacket.

"Shut up!" he yells at me. Damon tightens a fist around my jaw, angling it to forcefully shove the aether gun up my nose. I heave once, twice... And then slowly, sobs transform into breathless giggles spaced between his thrusts as he takes me in the parking lot.

Darkness swallows me whole; I'm scared of it until I meet the neon creatures that wander the nightclub: chimaeras made of strangely detached stripes, symbols and polka dots in glow-in-the-dark paint. Cheshire lips glow when they smile at me, friendly, but hungry. I don't know when it happened, but there's a glass of alcohol in my grip now. It would be a shame to waste it. The bass vibrates through my boots and rattles the cage of my chest. I've never heard this song before, but it's the best song in the whole world! I throw my arms in the air and shake it out. Ravenous eyes are always drawn to flesh. I smile at my predators coyly, but only one of them gets to tear me in two tonight. Familiar arms slide around my waist - _there you are_ . Dropping low, I grind against Damon's crotch in time with the music. He grabs my hips to rub aggressively back. Ready for the next round. _Insatiable._  

"Tell me how bad you want it," he growls in my ear. I open my mouth to respond when I feel a sudden buzz against the back of my thigh. I stand up straight, blinking at his pocket until I make out the rectangular impression of Damon's phone. It vibrates again insistently.

Snatching it up before Damon can, I read the caller ID: 'Matteo'.

"It's your _slut_ boyfriend," I slur.

"He'll leave a message." Then he mutters, annoyed, "Like a hundred of them."

I dance the phone away from his reaching hand, smiling, naughty. "I'll hang on to this." I slide it into my back pocket. "For _inspiration_."

Damon doesn't even care when I start to sway my hips seductively. I want to be the _only_ thing on his mind. Sinking to my knees, I run my hands over his jeans. He already has a hand in my hair as I unzip his pants and take his tip on my tongue. The desperately buzzing phone in my pocket eggs me on: I take his incredible girth in my mouth, sliding back and forth eagerly. Deepthroating Damon, I toy with his sack, wondering how loud his moaning can get. It's a reward, but his climax is the prize. Damon wrenches me to my feet by the hair while we both gasp for air.

"Don't you go anywhere," he tells me before swivelling around to grab a drink at the bar. But that sounds boring. My eyes are already wandering away.

Pick a monster. Any monster. I want the one with the glowing green serpent painted on the side of his head. He wears a muscle tee, showing off bulging arms and his auburn hair is shaved off the sides, but long and spiky on top. That's the one.

It doesn't take him long to notice when I start dancing near him. We lock eyes; I tempt him by drawing my hands up over my body and through my hair, lifting before letting it cascade around my shoulders. _Don't you wish those were your hands?_ The look in his eyes answers: _yes._ We gravitate together like magnets. I give him a sultry spin and a smile, winking. Then he grabs my ass. He thinks he just landed a catch, but _I'm_ the hunter here. Suddenly, I'm all over him, practically climbing him like a tree to claim a sticky, passionate kiss. Out of the corner of my eyes, I see Damon returning swiftly without his drink. He taps the snake man on the shoulder, then as soon as he turns, punches him in the face.

I scream and clap my hands over my mouth, only to hide the uncontrollable smile there. Club patrons shout at the duellers.

"Get him, Damon!" I call through cupped hands. Then I touch myself through my clothes, gorging on the delicious view of two sexy, muscular men fighting it out over me. The snake is bigger than Damon, but my demon is better trained. Snake lands a lucky shot. Damon's cheek is already darkening; he throws himself back into the fray with a vengeance. There's sweat on Damon's brow as the two trade blows. He decks the bigger guy in the face, sending him to the floor. Before he can get up, Damon returns with a beer bottle and gratuitously shatters it over Snake's head. Fizzing alcohol puddles on the floor. This time, he stays down. I feel like I'm ringside at a wrestling match as the crowd cheers. Damon grins victoriously - the reigning champ - then his expression turns naughty when he finds me.

"You're such a troublemaker," he growls, gripping me by the hair. I smile innocently.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Damon flips me down to a couch on all fours like a conquest. There's cold air on my thighs as he drags my pants off. Then, without warning, he plugs me with his cock. I cry out, making throaty gasps as he moves. Damon gives it to me doggie style, raw, hard, the way you give it to five-dollar hookers in a hurry. He slips his fingers in my choker like a collar, tugging back sharply with each thrust.

"Rei... Rei..." I hear him moaning in my ear.

Damon lets me push my way on top of him. Tucking my legs on either side of his shredded waist, I bounce on him like a porn star. _Oh god, he's so big_ \- and from this position, I can feel every inch. My eyes slip shut as a blush burns my cheeks. I pant for the breath that Damon stole from me.

A naughty idea pops into mind. I fetch Damon's phone from my discarded pants, smiling as I open the camera. I start taping his face, intently watching every fluctuation of his brow; the way his lips come together in an 'o'. The bruise at his cheekbone... He always looks better just a little roughed up. Brilliant dark eyes open, staring deep into the lens. When Damon realizes I'm recording him, he smiles lazily and winks at the camera. My face goes hot; I'm all out of breath again. _Why did I ever leave you?_

Damon cums and I uncouple from him at the same time, falling back against the armrest as I gasp at the ceiling. But he's already moving my thigh again.

"D-Damon," I squirm. He slides a girthy, black latex toy between my legs while I chew on my lip, painfully stimulated. "No remote?" I ask him.

"You're not the only one with fancy toys," he snickers. Without further explanation, Damon gets up and takes a few steps away. My eyes widen as the toy begins to vibrate. The buzzing lessens when he comes closer again. Oh god, that's dirty. Then he's walking away again - too far away - and the toy goes off like a living thing. My hands shoot to my crotch as I squeeze my thighs around them tightly, whining,

"Daaaaamon!"

"Behave yourself this time." He grins wickedly and goes to get that drink. I writhe on the couch helplessly. Rolling over on my hands and knees, I stroke myself to relieve the pressure, just in time to see another notification pop up on Damon's phone. 47 unread messages. _What a freak._ I'll give him something to look at. Grinning, I go straight to Damon's inbox and send Matteo the video of his boyfriend under me while I rode his dick. Then I send him our location, sit back and wait for the fun to arrive...

Damon and I are on the dance floor again. I have my arms around his neck, swaying with him while he rests his hands on my ass. My eyes flutter open, almost premonitory. I see Matteo push through the nightclub doors, looking around, and smile furtively into Damon's shoulder. He found us.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Matteo shouts as he rips us apart. "With this... This overpriced _whore?!_ " Oh the irony.

"Matteo-" Damon is cut off by his boy's angry yelling, getting more garbled as I back away through the heaving crowd, making the toy vibrate more and more as their argument gets louder. Tan hands grip handfuls of Damon's shirt; Matteo shakes him, screaming while Damon holds his hands up defensively. There's something sickly satisfying about this: watching them fall apart, knowing it's all because of me...

Something shifts in Damon's eyes. Something very. _Very_. Wrong. He strikes Matteo sharply across the face, then catches him by the wavy black hair. Locking an arm around his boyfriend's waist, Damon holds him tightly, body to body, forcing the smaller man into a domineering kiss. Matteo locks up, his hands clenched into fists, chest heaving. Then his brow relaxes helplessly. He goes limp in Damon's arms. And that's just what he's willing to do in a crowded club full of people.

My heart is pounding in my chest. I'm backing away faster, but this time, it's because the darkness is chasing me. _I remember those eyes._ Blinking lazily in the morning as Damon rolled over to wrap his arms around me. 'Stay with me, just five more minutes.' Making out with him in the back of his police car; sometimes he does it with his eyes wide open. But they'd close in mirth when I cracked a snarky joke on one of those late night trips to our favorite kebab place. When it was good, it was _so fucking good_. But when it was bad...

 

###

 

Silky black coffee pooled above the filter as I pushed gently down on the knob of a french press. I was wearing nothing but an apron tied around my hips and Damon had already taken advantage of it three times that morning. I watched him cross the living room of his luxury apartment, turning over couch cushions in search of his shirt. The sunlight streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows illuminated a sinfully topless body. Biting my lower lip, tempted, I kicked his shirt under a chair.

"Hey," he mentioned innocently enough, "I got an intelligence report last morning that you were meeting with that assassin again, what's his name?"

"Quan Yanxing?" I offered.

"That's the one. This is the third time you've seen him this week."

"Big hit job coming up," I chuckled. "Thank you for shredding that report." Suddenly, I was on the kitchen floor, gasping for air that he had knocked from my lungs. The side of my face throbbed in an awful, all-consuming way. Damon descended on me before I could make sense of it, twisting my arm behind my back into a painful stranglehold that he learned on the force.

I screamed, "Damon, what are you doing?!"

"You're cheating on me, aren't you?" he demanded in a tone that suggested he'd already made up his mind about it.

"N-No... Of course not," I whimpered, "Damon, you said you wouldn't do this again..." Then I cried out again as the pressure on my arm increased. "You're going to break it-!"

"And so what?" He shook me roughly. "So what if I do? Where are you going to go? To the police? Your _family?_ " He hauled me off the floor while my feet scrambled for purchase and bent me sharply over the counter like a common criminal over the hood of his car. His entrance was painful but that wasn't what I was afraid of when I screamed again.

"Yeah, that's a great idea, Jurei," he hissed, holding my arms tighter than even the most restrictive handcuffs. "Why don't you tell them who you really are? Where you really go every night? They oughta love that..." I bit back tears and turned my head away. I didn't want him to see me cry, even though the bruise on my cheek was becoming obvious.

Damon's thrusts wrenched desperate, agonized sounds from my throat.

"You're _mine,_ Rei. And if you ever forget that..." His voice ended on an upturned, threatening tone. I heard the flicker of flames and felt heat dangerously close to my face. I opened my eyes, shocked. He had turned on the stove.

"Damon, what are you doing? _Damon?_ "

 

###

 

But now I just feel cold as terror cements me to the spot. I find Damon through the neon crowd. He's looking around, eyes narrowed as he scans faces. _He's looking for me._ I have no idea where Matteo is- maybe in a shallow grave out back already, I don't know, Damon works fast. _Don't go home with him. You MUST NOT go home with him._ I throw myself to the floor and crawl on my belly to hide under the bar, but the further I get from Damon, the more insistent the buzzing of the toy gets. Cursing, I grab at my crotch. Then I hear a long, low whistle.

"Wow."

I look up incredulously at the slim teenager seated on the bar stool. His grey hoodie helps him blend right into the backdrop of the dark club. Eclipse's purplish-blue eyes are trained on me curiously. And he's still... Wearing that sticker.

"Eclipse!" I hiss, "What are you doing here?! You're underage!"

"Yeah, _that's_ what's wrong with this picture," he snarks. "Speaking of which..." He whips out his phone to take a picture of me. "I bet my brother would just love to see _that_ one."

"No-!" I clamp my hands over my mouth in horror. If Massimo saw that picture: me crawling on the floor at Chimaera, dressed like a cheap Harm's Way hooker - and my hair is a _mess._ Not the hair. _Not the hair!_  

"I'd call you trash, but trash would sue me for defamation." Eclipse comments. He roots around in a bowl of peanuts and stuffs a handful in his mouth as he retraces my path to Damon. "You hiding from that guy? He's hot."

"It's his only redeeming quality," I mutter.  

"You two must have so much in common."

"Hey!"

"Okay, I'll help you."

"Wha-" I don't finish that question when I feel a sharp pinch at my neck, like a bee sting. "Ow!" I pull out a sleep dart a little too late as the room spins and my vision blurs. My head hits the floor as the ink spills from Eclipse's eyes and stains everything black.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jurei and Damon are just toxic enough for each other.


	8. Ultraviole(n)t

My  _ head.  _ I roll over, groaning. Well it certainly feels like Saturday morning. Why does the sun always rise and ruin my evening? Cradling my temples between my fingers, I prop myself up on an elbow. What I need right now is a cup of jasmine tea, a silk robe, easy listening on the radio and  _ definitely  _ not another lecture from Keiichi about my drinking habits... What I receive is a pair of piercing ice blue eyes.

"Ozymandias-" I say the name like a curse as I sit up straight. The floor he sits on is made of stainless steel unforgivingly textured with raised diamond tread. Ah... I can already feel the bruises it left on my delicate skin. Oz, on the other hand, sits perfectly still with his long, thin legs folded, staring over steepled hands as usual like either a pensive monarch or a scheming tycoon. "What's going on?" I demand. He shrugs subtly. 

"Still waiting for you to 'sort out this mess'." His disapproving gaze wanders to my clothes. "You seem to be taking... A  _ unique  _ approach." I realize with some embarrassment that I'm still dressed in day old stripper-wear. It looks as though a nightclub threw up on me. Drunk Jurei and I have completely different senses of fashion... I don't even know who he  _ is.  _

"Where are we anyway..." About as large as a generously proportioned shoebox, the cell that holds us is the most grey shade of grey I've ever seen, further discolored by odd stains. The facilities are dismally below standard: in the corner, I see a sink sprinkled with the shattered remains of what used to be a mirror. Then there's a bucket for... Right. Time to get out of here.

Last night was no ordinary Friday, was it? It's trickling back to me now: memories of bad decisions. I remember... A joyride through the city. Club Chimaera.  _ Damon.  _ That makes me bury my face in my hands, swearing under my breath.  _ What did I do, what did I do...  _ Nothing bad enough to go to jail, certainly? Not in the backseat of the police chief's son's motorcycle, anyway. I'm missing something. There was something else. 

The sound of a metal door clanging open derails my train of thought. And who should stroll in but Eclipse. Oh. There it is: the missing piece, although I wish he would just  _ stay  _ missing...

"Alright, who's up next?" I'm the only prisoner who walks up to the bars instead of cowering in the depths of the cells as Eclipse literally skips down the corridor. He wears a lab coat over his hoodie, both hands shoved into the deep pockets. A surgical mask covers the lower half of his face, serving to highlight expressive purple-blue eyes. "Tasche, tasche," he singsongs nonsensically like a schoolboy as he clicks along on the metal flooring, "Adoro le tasche~" Canvas shoes slap decisively to a stop in front of our cell. "Let's see... Jurei Akira, I choose you!" 

"I'm shocked, just  _ shocked. _ There was no way I could see that coming at all," I say sarcastically. Eclipse laughs, tossing his head back briefly. 

"You're funny, Jurei. That's what I like about you. It's too bad you're about to die." 

"Yet another unforeseeable twist."

"Well," he amends, tossing his head from side to side, "It's more like an 90-95% chance. Sometimes it feels like  _ 99 _ . But hey! Being part of the one percent should be nothing new to you." He winks. 

I have no way of knowing what he's blabbering about this time when he snaps his fingers at the prison guards. Bulky men put their hands on me like a pair of club bouncers.

I hiss, "This outfit is worth more than you'll make in a year." 

"Then where's the rest of it?" Eclipse laughs. 

"Perhaps at the bottom of a glass with the rest of his good ideas," suggests Oz. Two guards moved to drag him along, but he doesn't resist, allowing himself to be led. I shoot him a stern look. 

"Don't come at me unless I send for you,  _ nanashi. _ "

"Kuuhaku," he retorts. Well, well, certain death has certainly loosened his tongue...

"Parmigiano Reggiano!" Eclipse interjects. We both look at him. "What? I thought we were all saying funny words." 

I peer into the other cells in the dungeon corridor as we go. The prisoners look oddly familiar: faces that I haven't made an effort to remember but wormed their way into my subconscious through sheer persistence of presence. 

"They're yakuza," I gasp aloud. 

Oz explains. "After your plan failed spectacularly, the mafia brought everyone they rounded up here." Including Oz himself. But more importantly: they're not all  _ dead _ .

Eclipse complains, "Ugh, I hate keeping prisoners. So I'm just going to kill them all." Correction. Not dead  _ yet _ .

Our journey ends in an interrogation room repurposed into a makeshift lab for the mad child scientist. A centrifuge and a refrigerator sit in the corner while chemical apparatus is piled on the table. A briefcase lies open ominously in the middle of it all, illuminated starkly by a circle of light. Tucked into the lining of the case are small bottles of an unfamiliar purple solution and plastic syringes. Self-explanatory. Prison guards force Ozymandias into the chair. The tourniquet makes a rubbery snap as it pulls taut on Oz's arm. He makes a token effort at a struggle but settles for spearing Eclipse with dagger-eyes. The mafia heir is oblivious, playing eenie, meenie, miney, mo between the solutions. 

"Here we go." He picks up a vial and speaks in his phone, recording his own voice, "Clinical trial of purple variant: J-12." I watch the plunger rise above an insidious tide of purple as the blood drains from Oz's face. He sobers up.

"Jurei," he says briefly, "Tell my family what happened to me." 

"Oz..." 

"Tell my husband I love him. And I'm  _ sorry  _ for what this lifestyle has put him through."

"Tell him yourself when you see him again." 

"Statistically unlikely." Eclipse titters.

"And..." Oz has to pause to take a deep breath. "Tell my sons... To stay away. They are so bright, and so wonderful... They should never have to settle for this wretched life in the shadows. Please tell them their father loves them so, so much." His voice breaks. Eclipse waits patiently for him to finish, syringe at the ready. What a bizarre thing to do since he clearly doesn't care: he sinks the needle easily thrusting poison into the veins of this man, husband,  _ father _ . 

A cruel second or two of silence allows me to believe against my better judgement that Ozymandias dodged fate. The next few rectify that. His breaths start to come faster and his eyes widen in surprise, fixed on his arm - it's flexing uncontrollably. The tourniquet snaps off -  _ incoming!  _ \- I duck as it sails across the room like a rubber band and strikes the wall. 

"My bad. It does that sometimes." Eclipse shrugs. Meanwhile, Oz writhes in his seat; he really does need two guards to hold him down this time. When he can't hold the screams behind gritted teeth any longer, they pour out in an awful caterwaul, rapidly filling the room. I see his back arch like it might snap in two while his chest heaves. Every ropey muscle in his body bulges from a thin, overloaded frame, pushing thick blue veins against tan skin. It looks as though his insides are trying to become his outsides. 

"What's happening to him?!" I shout a question that goes ignored. And just when I think it can't get any more terrifying, he abruptly falls back into his seat - insensate - as if even his soul fled in terror. 

Not just yet. I catch subtle movement. Eclipse's eyebrows shoot up hopefully. Only to fall at the same rate as Oz's chest exhausting one last breath. 

Eclipse waits only a few more moments, before scooping up his phone and recording, "Well, that was a fail. Again." 

"What  _ are  _ you?!" I shout, tugging sharply against my captors. "Cosa nostra has cruel methods, but you... You're just a  _ butcher!  _ And for what?" 

"Wouldn't you like to know?" The paper mask crinkles over a hidden smile. "Toss him in the dump with the others," Eclipse instructs. Then Ozymandias is being hauled from the chair and, more importantly,  _ I'm being pushed towards it.  _

" _ Unhand _ me!"

Eclipse snickers as he prepares another injection. The sight of my own skin suddenly terrifies me, exposed and vulnerable on the arm of the chair. As the tourniquet tightens again, blue rivers rise to the surface of my pale skin.   

"You can't do this," I insist, "Massimo will be furious..." The mention of his brother does make Eclipse pause. He looks up at me.

"I'm doing this  _ for  _ Massimo." So he does care for his brother - or at least he pretends to. I cling to that thread like a lifeline. 

"He'll never forgive you," I say. 

"Or maybe he'll _thank me!_ " Eclipse bursts out, "My brother is not like what you're thinking... He's a true mafioso: ruthless, terrifying, cold-blooded. And he doesn't much like you _Japs_..." The slur makes my eye twitch. Just a bit. I fall silent, wincing as Eclipse rubs the injection site furiously with antiseptic as if attempting to dissolve away the inside of my elbow and reveal the tendons underneath. "Then he met _you_ and he got all weird. Suddenly he starts talking about peace or something. If Father ever found out that it was because of you, I don't know what he'd do! No. I do know what he'd do, and I can't let that happen to Massimo."

"You would leap at the chance to become don," I scoff. 

"Just because you're a two-faced whore, doesn't mean everyone in his life is one too! My brother deserves to be the don. And now that I've met you, I just can't understand why he would risk throwing it all away over someone like  _ you. _ " 

"You could never understand..." 

"I think  _ you're _ the one who doesn't understand," Eclipse snarls, "Massimo could have anyone he wants.  _ Anyone.  _ But he picked you: literally the worst person in the world." 

"You don't know anything about me." All this sanctimony is going to kill me before the executioner even gets a chance. 

"Well I know where I found you. And who I found you with: spoiler alert, it wasn't Massimo. He deserves better than you." 

What a strange thing for a brother to say. "Who..." I squint at him. "Who  _ are  _ you?" 

"I'm no one," he says coldly, "But Massimo is going to be a great don once I remind him who he is." He brightens up all of a sudden. "I want to show you something." Eclipse abruptly rises to dig around in the corner of the room. 

"Here it is! Still fresh!" He lifts a roll of canvas and spreads it on the table in front of me. I frown. The canvas looks old: light brown and wrinkled. It's a painting. A traditional scene of water lilies and koi fish that must have once been so vivid. Though the colors are faded, the technique is still exquisi- My hand freezes on the surface.

"This is irezumi," I breathe. Which means... I see it in the nasty glint in his eyes. This is  _ human skin.  _

Crying out, I snatch my hand away as if I touched hot coal. Skin! It's skin! Flayed from the body of some unlucky yakuza bastard and tanned like a pair of Italian leather shoes! I'm breathing hard as a maddening itch spreads from my fingertips where I touched it, all over the crawling surface of my own skin still attached to my body.

"You  _ skinned them? _ " I shout, horrified. 

"Wasn't me..." Eclipse drinks in the sight, running a hand over the hide. "This one is from Massimo's collection: one for every upper-ranking yakuza he slayed... He wanted to throw them all out as soon as he started fucking one. I brought them here for safekeeping."

"I don't believe it." I shake my head desperately.

"It doesn't matter what a dead man believes." He sighs. "It just sucks that you don't have any tattoos. I thought it would be fun to gift you to him as a new pair of gloves." I taste sourness in the back of my throat.   

The door opens suddenly and I, swallow hard, letting out a terrified, pent-up gasp.  

"Testa di cazzo!" I hear an exclamation over my shoulder and trace it to a tall man standing in the doorway. He holds a phone to his ear with one hand and brings a respirator to his face with the other, taking a deep, wheezing breath. His suit is new and expensive but the man inside is all worn out, with gaunt features and limp brown hair piled on his head like tangled copper wire. An attractive young assistant in a cantaloupe-colored suit wheels in the oxygen tank attached to his mask. When the larger man draws the mask away from his face to speak again, it's an effort not to gasp out loud. 

He looks as though his nose has been sliced off his face, leaving behind abnormally large holes through which one could peer into his nasal cavity. 

"You think I want your weird kid in my basement doing god only knows what?" he yells into the phone, "Of course he is! I'm looking right at him!" He glances at Eclipse who is still leaning over the skin. "Now he's peeling them like fucking potatoes. Look, Lazarre, I have enough on my plate to deal with without having to hide a bunch of war prisoners and Dr. Frankenstein! What am I supposed to do with the bodies?" My blood runs cold at the mention. He pauses for a moment. "Not  _ that  _ many!" 

"Uncle Gazpacci," Eclipse tries unenthusiastically to get his attention.

"Look, I have to go," Gazpacci says to his brother, "But we aren't done here." He hangs up, watching us intently as he takes another lengthy drag of oxygen. His reputation precedes him. When most people look at Gazpacci D'Oro, they see a sickly, frail zombie of a man hollowed out by drug abuse and driven underground because his rotting lungs literally will not tolerate fresh air anymore. My gaze darts to his cute assistant who has absolutely zero chance of getting through his job on a daily basis without sucking yards of dick. You know what I see here? A very wealthy, very bored and very sick man trying to get in as many screws as possible before last call... I have to use that. I have to get out of this room and  _ away from this psycho _ .

"Gazpacci D-D'Oro," I bat my lashes at him, managing to sound only slightly nervous. "If it isn't the owner and operator of the largest pro wrestling venue in Clear. What an honor." The furrow in his brow relaxes slightly.

"Huh. Well if it isn't a kiss-ass," he says. "Wait a second... You're Raijin's kid aren't you?" 

"Noooo, what would make you think that," Eclipse tries to throw him off the trail. Too late.

"Yeah, I know you! Jurei Akira, right?" 

"The one and only." I smile flirtatiously. 

"It doesn't matter!" Eclipse argues, "He's one of my test subjects and you can't have him!" 

"Test?" Gazpacci snorts. "You're a few nazis short of a Holocaust." He cringes at the tanned skin again. "Or a Hannibal museum." The guards move away obediently as Gazpacci helps me up from the seat. He snaps off my tourniquet easily while Eclipse glowers at him. I think I successfully gauged where the real authority lies here... 

Gazpacci confirms as much when he says, "I might have to tolerate you and your freakish project, Nephew, but I'm still in charge. I'm borrowing this now, but don't worry, I'll return it... In 'Used' condition."

"Kinky..." I say.

"Of course, Uncle." Eclipse watches us leave, grumpy. I glance over my shoulder and watch him slowly re-rolling the skin. With a shudder, I quickly face forward.

We head up a flight of stairs and out of the dungeon. An electronic door seals the way behind us. Casting it a furtive glance, I notice that it's twice-secured with a thumbprint scanner and DNA scraper. Getting back in will be harder than getting out. 

"So this must be the Forge," I dig casually for information.

"The Forge is my pride and joy." Gazpacci sounds extremely proud, anyway. "It's like you said, the biggest wrestling venue in Clear." All underground: a labyrinth of concrete pipelines starved of natural light. Dim yellow light fixtures embedded in the floor make for a poor substitute, lining the halls like endless flight runways. They illuminate everything from below in a haunted way, including Gazpacci's sunken countenance.

"And occasionally, it serves as a daycare for Lazarre's weird child prodigy or whatever." He waves an irreverent hand. 

His assistant is rolling the oxygen tank along behind us like a suitcase. He pipes up, "You shouldn't let Lazarre boss you around. You know the birthright of don was originally yours." He's awfully outspoken for an assistant...

"And what good was it to me in this condition? I could barely lead myself to the bathroom and back, let alone run the mafia." Gazpacci takes a brooding breath of air from his mask. "I did what was right for cosa nostra. I have my Forge and my wrestling: that's enough for me." His secretary doesn't look convinced. We stop in front of the door to an office.

Once inside, I hear giggling and turn my attention to an inflatable pool full of whipped cream inside which a pair of men wrestle playfully. They are dressed in revealing riffs on wrestler's clothing: tight, colorful leotards. One has shortcake skin and a candy floss fluff of pink hair currently flecked with whipped cream. Under him is an even skinnier wrestler with a spray of cinnamon freckles over his face. 

Both smile at Gazpacci as he enters, saying in unison. "Good afternoon, Manager Gaz." He nods and allows himself a long, indulgent look at their shapely bodies sliding together, wet and sticky. Strawberry Shortcake makes the whipped cream fly as he pounces on his partner, pinning his flat belly to the floor of the pool. He slides a leg between Cinnamon's thighs, rubbing his crotch through a froth of cream. Then, lifting his partner's hips, Shortcake dry - well not really  _ dry _ \- humps him through his clothes. Cinnamon moans softly as Shortcake rubs his bulge between a perfectly apple-shaped pie drenched in whipped cream. Apple Pie licks some cream from a fingertip and winks, seductive. I blush. 

I'm not complaining about the view, but it makes my skin crawl at the same time. So...  _ Unsanitary _ . I try not to allow that opinion to show through on my face. 

"They don't look like wrestlers," I comment. 

"Then you need to watch more wrestling." He grins sleazily.

His secretary in the meantime, has wheeled in a serving cart with a cloche on top of it.

"It's time for your medication, Manager Gaz," 

"Take five, boys." The two in the tub climb out obediently, toweling off as they leave the room. 

Gazpacci's secretary moves the platter to the desk and lifts the cloche. It isn't exactly your typical work lunch. Two syringes: one filled with a red solution and the other, blue. 

I glance at him in amazement. "You're on red  _ and _ blue?" Talk about burning the candle from both ends... Gazpacci smiles knowingly at my expression. 

"Cyrille, Jurei can do it this time."

"It isn't... Proper." His assistant, Cyrille, looks away, allowing his wavy periwinkle hair to obscure his face. But he stands back to give me room.

"Red first, then blue." Gazpacci instructs. 

I'm not an idiot, I know how to inject drugs even if I don't make a habit of it myself... In and out - a clean and quick operation. Lifting the red syringe, I turn his arm over but I have to stop there. Instead of clear, strong blue veins like my own revealed by the tourniquet, I find a feathered mess of thin lines more like a rash than a circulatory system along his arm. I must be looking at it wrong. There has to be an easy way... The needle hovers, indecisive, as I feel dumber by the second.

"What's the matter?" Gazpacci watches, amused. 

"I-It's nothing," I say defensively. Ah! I'll just go in on the other side. Congratulating myself, I flip his arm. The other side is just as bad, if not worse.

"You're looking in the wrong place."  

"Then where should I-" I trail off at the sound of his pants rustling. Cyrille, who returned his attention to watch me squirm, tosses his hair again, jealous. Of what, I can't imagine as a thick, bulging cock appears in Gazpacci's lap. A net of purplish blue veins make it look like a monster. 

"Don't be shy," he chuckles, guiding me toward it like a creepy older man would handle his young lover. I hesitantly wrap a hand around his girth, unable to contain a shudder this time. I can  _ feel  _ the blood rushing underneath to stiffen his length, pulsing beneath my fingers. Gazpacci guides me up and down into a proper rhythm for a handjob. Tossing my hair over one shoulder, I lower myself to lick the tip while I pump his shaft. He moans an approval at my initiative and throws his head back, panting while I close my lips and suck.

Once he feels hard enough, I pull off before he can blow his load and ruin all my hard work. I have almost too many injection sites to choose from here... Selecting one, I plunge the needle and drain it.

"Red's a hell of a drug," he tells me off the cuff while we wait for the drug to take effect, "It has a way of charging every vein, every muscle." I see it for myself soon enough. His dick goes hard in my hands - and I wish I could take credit, but it isn't just me. Muscles react with the drug, bulging under the surface of his tired and bruised skin like the hide of an old predator. Gazpacci guides my hand to his heart, eclipsing it with his larger one. An old, infected injection site left a crater on the back of it. He goes on, "Your heart starts to race faster than it ever has in your life. Faster than when you were just a teenager stealing your father's liquor. Faster than your first kiss. Even faster than when you watched your beautiful wife walk down the aisle toward you..." I can't relate, but I can feel his heart racing beneath my palm - thudding,  _ crashing  _ against his chest as if it might just burst forth and give me a high five. Gaz lets his eyes drift shut and takes a deep breath as if to feel the sensation more deeply. "Red is  _ power.  _ You know what they say about power?" 

"Power corrupts." 

"It  _ corrodes _ . It will burn you from the inside out and leave you a smoldering husk." His heart pumps in overdrive. It's going too fast. 

"Gaz-" I begin.

"The... Blue..." he wheezes. Remembering myself, I swap out the needles. As the injection of blue drains into his system, his heartbeat slows down again to something that resembles a normal human range. Gaz catches his breath slowly. "You do aether red long enough and you start to need it just to live. Then you need blue to make sure it doesn't kill ya." He opens an eye at me. "I told you. Helluva drug."    

I stare at him, stunned. "It seems..." I meander to the point as I cast side-eye at Cyrille. "That a medical professional should be administering these drugs." Not random, slutty secretaries with dubious knowledge of human physiology - or anything else, really. Gazpacci merely tosses his shoulders. 

"Cyrille shoots better. And judges less," he says pointedly. Then he grabs my ass. "Besides." A spark leaps in his eyes. "Nurses are less willing to help with the side effects." I return my attention to his straining hardness. Right... 

Gazpacci watches indulgently as I step out of my shorts and welcomes me into his lap. He's uncomfortably hard- and I don't just mean his tool... His lap is almost completely solid with none of the give that would make it feel...  _ human _ ,  __ pumped up instead like a painfully taut balloon just shy of popping by decades of red abuse. Cyrille is looking this way, green-eyed, so I'll give him something to look at. Spinning around, I plant my palms on the edge of the hardwood desk and lower myself on a big dick, moaning softly. 

"Gazpacci," I gasp heatedly. 

"Call me Gaz," he demands. 

"Gaz..." 

"No, Manager Gaz." 

Obediently, I purr, "Manager Gaz."

A grin crosses his face. " _ Uncle  _ Gaz." Well isn't that totally healthy and well-adjusted... 

"Uncle Gaz," I moan, raising a brow. His eyes shoot open; he frowns at the ceiling. 

"Back up." 

I smirk and repeat, "Manager Gaz." 

"That's the one."

Levering on the edge of the desk, I slide up and down on his sizeable pecker, legs tucked on either side of his hips. 

"Touch me, Manager," I beg; he's eager to oblige. Greedy fingers sink into my soft ass. He pulls me apart gently like a pornographic steamed bun with a sausage filling. I know exactly how to work him as I go faster and faster, slapping home each time. I listen for cues in the rawness of his voice, interrupted periodically when he has to take a puff from his respirator. I'm going to kill the guy at this rate... But Gazpacci likes to live dangerously. He waves over Cyrille, breathless. The secretary struts over like a model with his hands on his hips. I watch him, interested now. 

Cyrille's hair is just long enough to brush at high, cutting cheekbones. He has a certain, lush rosiness mixed in with his fair skin. Cyrille notices my attention and flaunts, tossing his hair casually as he turns around and inserts himself in the tight spot between me and the desk. His crisp trousers slide away like a silk curtain and he bends over graciously. 

Immediately, I'm on top, fitting myself inside a frequently-used but pleasurable hole. My breath escapes me in a soft sigh. Cyrille feels amazing. This time, when I rise, I push myself into Cyrille before sliding back down to Gaz's hilt. Sandwiched between the manager and his slutty secretary, I bob eagerly between two forms of pleasure.

Gaz has his hands on my hips, enjoying the show. 

"Spoiled slut," he taunts, pinching my ass cheek a little. He can hear the approaching climax in my voice and stands abruptly, pushing me hard into Cyrille while he hilts himself inside and squeezes. Numbing ecstasy crashes over me. 

"Manager! Manager Gaz!" I cry out, desperate and wracked with a climax. Cyrille gasps softly and tenses around my girth. 

Gaz is voracious. He lifts us both onto the desk, still hard even as I drip his seed. Cyrille flips on his back as if this is simply part of his daily routine - I bet it is - but he frowns at the reminder that I'm still on top of him. He glares even as his boss heaves his thin legs up on his shoulders and pounds him. I get a naughty idea.  _ Show me more _ . I unbutton Cyrille's shirt slowly. The ends cascade away in sections from a soft, creamy chest. His flat nipples are adorably pink. I let my fingertip wander in circles around his areola. 

"You are exquisite," I muse softly, "I'm in the market for a secretary myself... I'll double what he's paying you." Not that I actually have any secretarial work for him... 

"I am gainfully employed, thank you." Cyrille pouts at me haughtily. Glancing over my shoulder, I find Gaz going hog wild at that pretty handful of ass. 

"I believe you." 

Returning my attention to Gaz, I link my arms around his neck as I sit back casually on Cyrille's cock. He's nowhere near as large as the manager himself, but I consider that a comfortable palate cleanser. Nothing wrong with a relaxing, easy ride, and Cyrille makes all kinds of hot noises to keep me entertained. Bouncing softly, I make out with the manager. A skeletal hand entangles with my hair as he angles into my lips. 

I find myself on the carpeted floor a few minutes later, twirling a makeup brush in some setting powder. Casting another furtive glance around the empty swivel chair, I see that Cyrille and Gaz are still going at it hard. Doggie style this time, on the desk. The drug lent that living corpse so much vigor. Which is just fine by me as long as it keeps him busy... 

I carefully dust the arm of Gaz's chair. Fingerprints make themselves known in the same color as my makeup powder, pale against the dark armrest.  _ Perfect.  _ Using a piece of clear tape from his desk supplies, I peel the print from the chair. A cry of ecstasy alerts me that my time is up. I hastily stick the tape the bottom of the powder case before shoving it back in my pocket. Gaz looms over the back of the chair, staring curiously. I stand up, dashing the rest of the evidence as I prop a hand on his armrest and the other on my hip. Only slightly awkward.

"What are you doing over here, you're missing out on all the fun..." Gaz chuckles. He tugs me into his arms abruptly and presses a lustful kiss against my lips. Then he has to turn his head and cough. I see the haggard expression return to his face and the amusement in his eyes fade away. The boost from the drugs must be wearing off. 

"Manager, you should rest now," Cyrille wilts as he says it, looking at the manager with heavy eyes. How cute, the secretary has a crush on the boss.

"I know, I know," says Gaz. But before he can fold back into his seat, his phone vibrates. "What is it now?" he demands. His eyes widen. " _ What?  _ This had better not be a joke. Don't do anything. I'm on my way." He hangs up quickly. 

"Manager," Cyrille intones.

"Who was it, what's going on?" I ask.  

"We're going." Is all he says. He throws on a broad overcoat before linking an arm around each of us and sweeping down the hall. 

An elevator ride takes us to a luxurious viewing box high above the rest of the crowd. Eclipse is already there. He turns around as we approach. 

"I was waiting for you." We hear the announcer's voice echoing from below,

"I can't believe it, he's unstoppable! Who  _ is  _ this man?!" 

"Fucking hell!" Gazpacci curses. Even Cyrille can't calm him down as he storms to the tinted viewing panels. "I told you not to do anything until I got here!" 

"You took too long, old man." Eclipse shrugs. "I had to test him right away; who knows how long he'll stay kicking." 

I join him at the window and gasp. 

"He's alive!" It's  _ Ozymandias _ . In the wrestling ring, currently hefting a wrestler twice his size over his head as easily as a beach ball.

"Not bad for a dead guy," I breathe. Oz flings the wrestler from the ring and into the heaving crowd. The idiots go wild. They don't even realize that what they're witnessing is freakish and unnatural. This hardly seems like a fair fight: Oz is surrounded by wrestlers. A folding chair splinters against his shoulder, spraying shrapnel everywhere. He seizes two jagged pieces of the aluminum frame to deck the wrestler who attacked him in the head. The piece warps with the force of his blow. The second one, he outright drives through a fighter's shoulder like a blunt nail, then uses it to pin him to the mat. All while the muscular wrestler screams bloody murder and writhes like an insect pinned to a mounting board. I clap a hand over my mouth in horror.

"He's going to kill my fighters!" shouts Gaz.

"Isn't it incredible?" Eclipse marvels.

"This is  _ insane! _ " Gaz points at the distant form of Ozymandias. "He's out of control! He's a  _ freak!"  _

"You're just jealous that now anyone can be as strong as a rook, without eventually turning into a corpse like you." Eclipse taunts, "Aether purple is going to change  _ everything _ ."

"All the bodies in the dumpster will be just thrilled to hear it." 

"Did you say... aether  _ purple? _ " I have to back up here, looking at Eclipse in amazement. Eclipse's eyes crinkle over the surgical mask. I go on, "You... You combined red and blue." 

"Look everyone, yakuza prodigy Jurei has just figured out that red and blue make purple! Gold star for you!" Wide-eyed, I turn back to Oz. Let's reassess: maybe Ozymandias was a thug when he was just a kid running drugs, but now he's a middle-aged man with a cushy senior management position. And yet, he's kicked more ass in the last five minutes than he ever has in his entire sordid career.  

Something is wrong. Oz looks confused, clutching his head. He reacts explosively to anything that so much as enters his field of vision. Wrestlers take the moment to flee: leaping and squeezing between the ropes desperately. Oz's eyes light up. The match takes a horrifying turn when Ozymandias jumps the rope boundaries. A guard rushes to stop him only to be hurled over Oz's shoulder at a second one who was attempting to sneak up on him from behind. The crowd recoils, screaming.

"He's going to kill my  _ customers! _ " Gaz erupts. He snatches a wired phone from the wall in a panic. "Shoot him down!  _ Shoot him down! _ "

"You can't do that!" Eclipse throws himself at his uncle, engulfing his arm. "He's my  _ test subject!" _

"Wait!" I throw my hands up. "Let me talk to him! He's confused... But he knows me; maybe I can get through to him." They stare at me wordlessly. "Just let me try," I plead. Gaz and Eclipse exchange glances. 

 

A guard shoves me into the ring. I shoot him a glare over my shoulder.

"Well there's no need to be so-" Ah, forget it. I call between cupped hands, "Oz!  _ Ozymandias! _ " He twists around to look at me, baffled. 

"Ju... Jurei?" He clutches his head, groaning.

"Listen to me, Oz. Get back in the ring."

"But I have to... Get to my family," he says, dazed. He stumbles to one side, then the other, long hair swaying. His eyes, normally so sharp, look dull and unfocused.

"They're going to shoot you down. Please, you have to listen to me."

"But you..." He grits his teeth angrily. "Why should I listen to you? You can't do  _ anything!  _ You can't solve our problems; you don't even  _ care  _ about them. You're just a stuffed shirt the yakuza sent to get their lieutenants to shut up... Like they always do." I clench and unclench my fists. What say I just let that sniper in the wings take him out? 

But no. As irritating as he is, I still need him. 

"I made a mistake," I say quietly. Oz looks at me, stunned to hear any kind of admission. "I didn't take the lives of you or your men seriously, and that's why we're in this mess right now. Give me a chance to fix this. Give me a chance to get you home." Ozymandias affixes that icy gaze on me, unblinking. Finally, slowly, he returns to the ring. I meet his eyes as he looms over me. A nervous murmur settles over the crowd. 

"Now what?" he whispers. 

"Now pick me up." 

"What?" His mouth tilts in confusion. "Why?"

"Because you are very tall," I reply. Ozymandias plays along, scooping me up. I fluidly swing a leg across his shoulders and latch down, riding piggyback while I wrap my arms around his head to protect him from the sniper. 

"Now  _ run! _ " I shout. Oz's eyes widen, he jolts into motion. 

Fear is a wonderful thing: it cuts through the chaotic crowd like butter. There's nothing and no one in our way now as we burst through the doors to the Forge corridors. Voices chase us through the halls, but the labyrinth splits our pursuers into hopeless fractals who probably don't want to get in Oz's way anyhow... 

"We have to save the others," says Oz.

"That way!" I direct him to the electronic door, where I hop off and quickly supply the fingerprint and DNA sample. 

_ "Welcome back, Manager,"  _ An electronic voice greets us as the door slides open.

"Where did you get that?" Oz is amazed. 

"Don't ask..." He tears the door to the control room off its hinges to reveal a wide-eyed guard sitting in front of the monitors. Oz takes a threatening step forward but the guard raises his hands non-threateningly.

"Oh please, allow me." He quickly pushes the button to release the prisoners.

"Finally, someone with a brain around here," I say appreciatively. The dungeon is soon flooded with men rushing out of their cells. 

"It's Oz!" they're all saying. He walks down the aisle, slipping high fives to the other lieutenants. I watch the way they rally behind him, chanting his name and jostling his shoulder. He really is a leader among men... "We need to get them out of here," he says to me briefly. 

I think about it for a moment. 

"They weren't just carrying the bodies out the front door... There must be a backdoor somewhere." I sprint to the other end of the dungeon, where I spot a cart of refuse beside a nondescript steel door. "I found something!" I cry out excitedly. "It's a service elevator!" 

The elevator opens at ground level to a desolate lot sealed with chain link fencing. The space is empty save for a few ominous-looking dumpsters. You couldn't pay me to look in there... Ozymandias grips the padlocked length of chain sealing the doors and pulls in opposite directions. The metal groans, then snaps as easily as a rubber band.

"Go on, get out of here!" He waves the others through the doors ahead of us. "Get to safety... We'll be in contact." When the last of them is scampering away down the street, Oz looks at me, but not with the usual annoyance in his gaze. 

We walk down the dark street together. Unsavory characters haunt the alleys, but I feel incredibly safe in the shadow of the freakish superhuman. He suddenly teeters off balance, clutching his head again.

"Oz-" I reach for him, but I'm glad I didn't get there when he grabs the pole of a streetlight for support and crushes it like a soda can. The metal squeals horribly and the light flickers a complaint, frightening even Oz. He staggers back, then falls into the bench next to it, wide-eyed. 

"What did they do to me?" he moans, shaking his head. "What am I going to do?" He turns up his rough palms to stare at them. Blue-tinged white hair dangles sadly by his face. "How am I going to hug my kids? How... Will I make love to my husband?" 

"We can practice if you want." I crack a smile, then realize that was both insensitive and inappropriate when he glares at me.  _ 'Literally the worst person in the world.'  _ I should have it printed on a certificate. "I'm sorry," I say more quietly, "I don't have any answers for you. A high-ranking mafioso developed a new drug combining the properties of both aether red and blue. I know nothing else." 

"Well..." Oz steeples his hands again, but this time it seems as though he's trying to keep them safely contained. "You know it exists now, and what it does. That should worry you enough all by itself."  _ It does.  _

I sit down next to him, silent for a while. A young couple walks together on the sidewalk across the street. They pull each other closer in the cold weather, laughing, before they turn and walk into a theater. 

"Your husband is very lucky," I say at last. 

"I'm the lucky one," Oz replies earnestly, "He deserves better than me." 

"What do you do to make him stay?" 

"I can't  _ make _ him stay, but I can choose to. Stay around. Stay loyal. Spontaneous." He folds his lean arms behind his head and leans back. It seems to be taking his mind off the events of the evening. "Most of all... You stay in love. And you have to fight to stay in love, but it's worth it for him." I look at Ozymandias, a little surprised. He rises, completely composed now by sheer mention of his family. "I'll escort you to the Pagoda first, but then I'd like to go home, Jurei."  

 

It's funny how different one night can be from the one just before it. Almost enough to make you believe that people can change. The oatmeal-white turtleneck is a far cry from what I was wearing that lifetime ago, and so are the navy skinny jeans. Perhaps the sterling brooch was overkill. I shouldn't have worn anything over fifty dollars. I'm trying to be normal. I'm just trying to be normal. I wring my fingers between my hands as a sleek black car pulls up behind the Pagoda.  _ Will he like it? _ A harried figure gets out of the driver's seat and slams the door unintentionally hard. He isn't even thinking about frivolous things like what I'm wearing.

"Coniglietto, are you okay?" Massimo sounds so worried. I stare at his bare face: those strong, unmistakable features. The characteristic piercings at his lip. Even the rough stubble along his jaw. He isn't wearing so much as a mask to conceal himself. Suddenly, I'm horrified 

"Do you know how dangerous it is for you to be here?" I whisper.

"But... I got your text. 'It's an emergency, come quick'? You gave me a heart attack!"

"So you just  _ show up?  _ Just because I asked?" Clasping my hands tightly, I look away because it's too hard to look at his face and make sense at the same time. Although I might not be either way. 

"Of course!"

I bite my lip. "Don't you think at all before you do anything?"

" _ No! _ " The volume makes me flinch. "No I don't, Jurei, not when it comes to you!" His golden eyes are wide and desperate. "Because if I sat down and thought about it for longer than two seconds, I would realize how  _ insane  _ this is!"

"Massimo-" My voice breaks as I bring a hand over my mouth and lower my face. "I've ruined your life."     

"No, you don't get to say that. This was my decision! I don't worry about it anymore because I already know I love you;  _ what else do I need to know...? _ " He drags his fingers through his coppery hair as if he wants to tear all his golden highlights right out of his scalp. "But you? All you do is think. Why can't you just  _ be? _ Just be with me." 

"I know about the skins." The silence that follows is deafening. A horrible memory of the tattooed skin in Eclipse's lab returns to torment me. Be with that man?

"It was... before," he says at last. 

"You treated them like  _ animals. _ "

"And I regret that."  _ 'He wanted to throw them all out.' _

But it's still too much. That horrible, itching feeling has returned, crawling up through my hands all the way to my shoulders and then on to my neck. I turn around, clutching the entire lower half of my face in my hands to silence myself. The words slip out anyway, muffled, "I can't look at you right now." My phone buzzes. I pick it up to glance. He sent me a message.

'you don't have to'

A pause. Then the typing icon. Finally,

'you look amazing tonight'

I blush, tucking a section of hair behind my ear before I reply, 

'So do you.'

'are we breaking up?'  

'...I don't want to.'

'I love you.'

'I'm sorry'

'Me too.'

'I'm trying to be better.'

'you don't have to. You're already the best thing in my life.' 

 

"Max," I say that out loud, turning around.

When he lifts his face from the screen, there's a wet sheen in his eyes, but it's completely upstaged by a 24 karat grin when I start to run towards him. He catches me in a big bear hug. 

"Let's disappear for a bit, you and me..." I murmur, clutching his shirt. "I know just the place." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some questions to which even I don't know the answer: Does Jurei try hard enough? Which one of them is more delusional? Isn't young love always insane? Especially when you aren't that young anymore! 
> 
> Thanks for the support! I think I have a good estimate of the number of chapters remaining in this book. Hope you've enjoyed the ride so far because we're getting close to the end!
> 
> \- KassiopeiaX


	9. How the Wheel Turns

It was a night like this, not even such a long time ago. The ocean rolled by the cruise ship in vast, empty strips of dark grey, but the inside was bustling. An opulent interior full of wealthy men as evidenced by their attire, but especially by the women that accompanied them. Expensive models, by my approximations. They said little while the rich men stood around, drinks in hand, laughing about what rich men laugh about. The ladies knew how to smile at the right moments - which was almost constantly - and look classy in dresses that could scandalize a coat hanger. They were perfect accessories on the arms of the men who owned them.

The arm around my waist was not Massimo's.

Damon whistled, impressed. "The toughest arms dealers from Null. It's nice to finally meet the men behind the arrest warrants!" He let out a bark of laughter. "They would eat you alive, Rei."

"I'm not here to pick a fight, only to observe," I said. And I didn't like what I was seeing. "Lazarre's protege is at this party."  

"Who, Massimo? I like the guy. Had a couple drinks with him last week." I shot Damon a glare. "What?" he said, "I may be corrupt, but at least I'm equal-opportunity. Speaking of which..." He nipped my earlobe flirtatiously. "Don't take too long. We have plans tonight."

"We... Do?" My mind was flitting as if trying to flee this shell to safety. There was nowhere to go as Damon tightened his grip on my waist.

"I got you into the most exclusive party in the city. You'd better believe I'm cashing out my brownie points." He said it in a teasing tone of voice, but his bite was worse than his bark as he latched on my ear lobe.

"A-Ah!" I put a hand on his chest, but didn't dare push. "Please Damon, I'm working."

We were interrupted by an arms dealer leading around a group of young ladies.

"And this one you see, is one of my very favorite inventions..." He held up a long, thick penis extens- I mean _flamethrower_ and pulled the trigger. Fire shot out the other end, spontaneously flambeeing a cherries jubilee. The girls cheered while an unfortunate waiter frantically patted out the fire on his breast pocket. "Not terribly useful," the arms dealer conceded, "But it makes one _hell_ of an impression." He grinned sleazily at them. "Want to see how well it works in the hot tub?" Damon watched them walk by, interested; I couldn't tell by which part.  

"But first, if you'll excuse me, I've gotta see a man about some hot stuff..." I still couldn't tell, but I felt a tiny twinge of relief when he left. I pulled up profiles on my phone and started putting names to the faces - no easy feat when you are trying to ID some of the most secretive criminals in the world. A thankless task: my heart dropped another inch in my chest for every match.

"Ciao, bello." I looked up, surprised. In front of me stood a sculpture hewn by Michelangelo, no doubt. He was tall - so very tall - towering over me. He would have towered over Damon if Damon were present. He wore only the finest quality raiments, from an Italian suit and tie to a pair of diamond cufflinks, but wore them like he just didn't care: top button off, tie tugged loose. His rich, brown hair was just the right amount of messy and his lip rings were driving me crazy - the golden glow they both gave off gave him dead away: Massimo D'Oro, first son of the don.

"H-Hello," I remembered to breathe. When I said 'observe' I didn't think it would be in such close proximity...

"What's a pretty thing like you doing here all alone?"

"I-" _Am not alone._ He thought I was one of the escorts. That was useful. "Was waiting for you to find me." So I acted like one, batting my lashes at him as I ran a finger around the rim of my glass. He abruptly took my wrist. My cheek hit his chest softly and went red at once.

"The wait is over, bello."

Massimo put his hands on me as if I was his property: and he was right. He owned everything at that party. Up and down along my side, he cupped my hip and squeezed it, using me like a stress ball as he liaised with dealers and criminal linchpins. I could scarcely believe my luck: I had come here hoping to pick through the scraps for crumbs of information, and now here I was with a front row seat to the feast.

The dealer he was speaking with guffawed loudly.

"That's right, that's right, you're absolutely right, D'Oro," he said, shaking his head in amusement, "Tell ya what, we'll make it 25 a case, see how it works out, eh?"

"That would be perfect." Massimo grinned wide and shook the dealer's hand. He sighed as soon as we were out of earshot again. I noticed a certain dullness in the gold of his eyes. Neatly selecting a glass of choice wine from a passing tray, I offered it to him.

"Something on your mind?"

"I hate this party." He flashed me a half smile as he accepted it.

"But..." I looked around, astonished. What was lacking in the lavish decor? The menu that could have impressed a king and his court? Or the gorgeous escorts leaning against every spare corner? "What's wrong with it?" I asked him.

"Well, nothing," He snorted, lowering his lips to the cup. "That's why it's so _fake._ " After just one sip of the expensive wine, he laughed, shaking his head. "This stuff is terrible!" I was a little offended as I crossed my arms.

"What would you prefer?"

"A beer. I want a beer."

"You're the don's _son._ "

"But I feel like a regular guy." He grinned. I fell silent. "Ah," he growled slightly, running a sheepish hand through his hair. "But why am I telling you this? You wouldn't even be here if I was just a regular guy. Would you?" I searched his eyes, dumbfounded. He was challenging me. And, suddenly competitive, I wanted to one-up him with something completely crazy.

"Let's not be here at all, then," I said quietly, "Let's run away."

 

I watched Massimo fumble with the winch.

"No, not that... Maybe this one...?" he muttered to himself. I could have done it myself in a matter of seconds, but I decided that that probably wasn't consistent with my cover as a bimbo-brained escort. I laid back on the seat of the motorboat instead. My gaze alighted on a cooler right next to it, and soon, I was fishing out a bottle of champagne. Massimo had found a button. The wrong one. "Found it!"

"Wait!" I reached too late - the boat dropped like a stone into the water, almost flinging me over the edge. I snatched my face away from it while Massimo lay draped on the other seat, wide-eyed. They got even wider when he noticed-

" _Santa Maria!_ " He lunged. Massimo caught the champagne bottle before it smashed on my head with only inches to spare. I unfolded from a brace position, scarcely daring to breathe.

"Nice catch..." Laughing with relief, he uncorked the bottle in a gusher of foam. I... Liked his laugh. I liked the way he toasted in Italian, wearing a grin too wide for the occasion,

"Salute!" Before clinking glasses with me and tossing his head back. Everything he did was big and unmeasured: cooking emotions without scales or measuring cups. As he wiped his lip on a sleeve, Massimo turned his attention eagerly to the controls. The motorboat jerked into motion and I found myself laughing as the wind stirred my long hair from its meticulous updo.

The boat had scarcely pulled up to the dock when Massimo made the leap. He helped me up next.

"We did it! We escaped!" I could see the thrill in his eyes. "Goodbye, Massimo D'Oro!" He shouldered out of his suit jacket and flung it - and his old identity - into the sea to sleep with the fishes. "And hello..." He thought about it for a while.

"...Max?" I suggested. He rewarded me with that bright, exciting smile. I had to stop him when he moved on to his dress pants, even if I _really_ wanted to see what was inside them. "Perhaps we should secure new clothes first," I suggested.

"Oh, good point..." The sound of laughter and voices drew our attention to the boardwalk blinking festively on the oceanfront. It wasn't the kind of place I typically frequented- or would ever want to, really, but Massimo's presence made me change my mind.

He slid out of the changing room of the souvenir store wearing board shorts and the corniest t-shirt in the world. It had fake muscles on it, which seemed extraneous when he could just take his shirt off entirely and - ta-da - real muscles.

In spite of myself, I giggled, "Nice shirt."

"I found one for you too!" He held up a second one which made my mouth twist.

"I am _not_ wearing that." The bikini and curves on the shirt made it look unconvincingly as though the wearer was a hot beach babe. Again, I could just take it off and - voila - beach babe.

"Oh come on, it's funny! You need to loosen up a little bit, bello..." My face went hot and indignant. Did he think I was uptight? I snatched the shirt from him.

We looked like garbage tourists - but at least no one could mistake us for a young mafia don and a wealthy yakuza accountant. I let my gaze dart from shop to shop, perusing the artery-clogging fare featuring choices ranging from drenched in cheese to drenched in chocolate. I brought Massimo that beer he'd been craving. He grinned wide at it and took a huge gulp.  

"I can't believe you're eating that." I shuddered at the sight of the neon yellow oil slick of nacho cheese over his garlic fries.

"Bello, the best food doesn't come from a Michelin-starred restaurant..." Massimo held up a cheese-covered garlic fry and dropped it into his open mouth. "It comes from the heart. And sometimes, a greasy guy named Joe with a deep fryer."

"Don't let your Italian grandfather catch you saying that," I muse, "He might hit you."

"Eh, he would hit me anyway." He smirked. "Just try one." The garlic fries were inches before my face, overpowering my delicate senses with the smell. I made a face but I took one. What could be so great about a glorified, garlic-scented, grease-stained potato marinating in radioactive waste- I bit into it. My eyes widened.

 

Massimo patted my back sympathetically while I clutched my stomach, doubled over by a wall.

"Maybe you shouldn't have eaten so much in one sitting."

"Poison!" I accused melodramatically. "You poisoned me!"   

Massimo's attention wandered to a guitarist playing at the wayside with an open case to catch the generosity of strangers.

"Oh, now this is interesting!" Massimo flipped him a coin, then leaned in to whisper in the guitarist's ear. The musician tilted his hat at Massimo and switched songs.

A melody floated on the humid ocean breeze as the guitarist sang, "Tall and tan, and young and lovely..." I smiled weakly.

"I'm only half of those things, I'm afraid." Suddenly, my hand was in Massimo's as he pulled me forward. "W-Wait, I don't dance," I gasped as I realized his intentions.

"I told you to loosen up a little."

"No, you don't understand," I insisted. "I don't know _how._ "

"What if I told you... No one cares?"

"Huh?"

"Who cares if Max and Bello can't dance?" He held me at the waist as we swayed back and forth. Massimo leaned in and whispered. "It's nobody's business." I blushed when I felt his hands wandering lower than they should.

"But- But there are rules! There are traditions..."

"I don't care about tradition. It's just a pile of bullshit they made up to keep us from doing what we really want to do. From... Being with who we really want to be with." I stared, speechless as he tilted my face to look up at him. "And right now, I just want to be with you." And that was when I let my stiff limbs move. Slowly at first, but then the mellow, tropical tones flowed through my body. I lifted my arms, drawing them through my hair. Massimo watched it cascade, then I twirled for him, smiling coyly. Our shoes made cheerful noises against the wooden slats of the boardwalk as we danced together.

"You... You..."

"Yes?" I urged.  

But Massimo was looking over my shoulder, distracted. He abruptly abandoned me.

"Hey there big fella," the carnival barker at one of the brightly colored game stalls was saying as I caught up, "You look like you have a good throwing arm."

"I want to play!" said Massimo, "Wait, how do you play?"

"Well it's easy! If you can knock over the milk bottles over there, you win a prize..." He gestured to the stuffed animals trussed around the frame of the stall.

"Ha! That _is_ easy." Massimo sounded so self-assured. He grinned at me. "Which one do you want?" I tapped my lip with a finger, considering it, then I pointed at a huge, stuffed dog. It was the highest value prize at the stall- what? I'm not some cheap lay. The barker brought over a tray atop which sat three balls. Massimo wound up his throwing arm and hurled the first one. It struck the white surface of the bottles only to spiral off impotently. He looked stunned.

"Having a little starting trouble?" I jutted out my lower lip. "Lots of men have that problem."

"I'm not having _starting_ trouble..." he scoffed, trying again. The second one bounced off too. He was getting angry now and a little embarrassed. I was only too happy to stoke the fire, examining my fingernails as I said,

"It's okay if you aren't up to it, I have a headache anyway."

He clicked his tongue. "Che cazzo e questo? I'm not leaving without that dog," he informed the barker.

"Oh please don't." The barker smiled wide at his latest lamb.

Massimo wound up for the final shot like a major league baseball player, sinking the rage of an entire criminal organization into that cheap, worn out ball. It left his fingertips as if he had fired it from the muzzle of a gun. _Paff!_ The ball bounced right off. Massimo's jaw dropped. Then he was yelling,

"Ancora, ancora! Give me another round!" he demanded. I put my hand on top of his when he reached to grab another ball.

I made sure to say it just loud enough for him to hear, "Your balls are full of sawdust."

He looked adorably confused like a golden-eyed terrier. He even cocked his head a bit. "Eh, sorry, english is my second language and sometimes the expressions don't make so much sense..." I chuckled under my breath and patted the balls.

"They're lighter than regulation." I nodded at the bottles next. "And those are filled with lead. You see what that means for you?" I saw realization dawning slowly on his face.

"You're so smart..." he breathed.

I smiled at that and fluffed my hair. "It's rigged."  

"Well in that case," Massimo suddenly picked up the tray and flung it at the barker, who flailed defensively.

"Hey!" Meanwhile, Massimo had grabbed the plush dog from its hook, shouting,

" _Run!_ " I sprinted after him on cue.

"Get back here!" the barker yelled in our wake, recovering enough to give chase. We dodged and wove between the crowd. So many faces. Laughter escaped me, unbidden as I cast glances over my shoulder to see if I was getting away with it. I lost the barker... But then I realized:

"Max?" I echoed, looking around. My heart sank. _Don't let it be over. Not yet..._ That was when hands closed around me from behind. "Max!" I spun around. His eyes twinkled as he brought a finger to his lips.

"Ssssh..." I followed his pointing finger to the barker pacing back and forth not too far away, looking for us. Max pulled me toward the giant Ferris wheel to hide. Everyone in line complained when we cut straight to the front.

"Sir, there's a line," the teenaged ride attendant informed us. His eyes got very wide at the wad of cash Massimo pressed into his thin hand. "Let me rephrase that: enjoy your ride!"

"Make sure we get stuck at the top. For a _long_ time," Massimo instructed as we climb in.

I stood at the end of the capsule, watching the boardwalk shrink as the arm of the Ferris wheel carried us into the air. Lights darted through the darkness. From the garish lights of rigged game stalls to the whizzing glimmers of cars in the distance. Each one going somewhere, strange as it was to consider. I tried to connect their dots, make sense of the picture- but it was wholly random.

I could sense Massimo's presence filling the space behind me; it warmed my chest like a strong drink. Unable to contain the smile on my face, I hugged the stuffed dog closer to my chest and buried my face in it.

"I had a really good time tonight," I said.

"Me too." The cock of a gun behind me brought me crashing down to earth again. My smile faded as I lifted my face.

"I know who you are, _Jurei Akira._ " Heart pounding in my chest. "I knew as soon as you walked in the door."

"Max-" I began but he cut me off,

"Don't speak." The muzzle of the gun knocked against my back, right between the shoulder blades. "Take it off," he ordered.

"Please, I don't want to-"

" _Do it._ " Wordless, I slowly lowered the plush animal to the floor, then pulled the souvenir t-shirt up and off. Stunned silence. I knew he was looking at the marks that crisscrossed my back. The whiplashes and bruises that Damon left on my battered skin.

Massimo grabbed my shoulder and flipped me around angrily. There was fire in his eyes.

"Why would you let this happen to you?!" he demanded. I blinked, stunned. "You're _not_ a regular guy! You're the third son of the okashira! You're just like me!"

"I'm nothing like you. I can't be like you..." I shook my head, fearing that the tears welling up would soon fall. One of them did, coursing down my cheek. He captured my face in his hands, rubbing it away with his thumb.

"Stop it-!" I gasped but I was too late to stop him smudging my concealer. Massimo searched my face in amazement.

"Idiota," he breathed. That was self-explanatory. I didn't get to say anything else when he pressed his lips desperately against mine. I melted in his embrace while he went straight to my pants to drop them.

Massimo swept me up; my back was pressed to the glass of the window. It almost soothed the sore marks there. I let my feet rest on the seats on either side of the capsule, spreading wide enough to allow him entrance. He used lube, _he used lube_. I buried my face in his neck and squeezed, desperate to feel a kinder touch than the one I was used to. I found it in his embrace. The way his arms supported me, rather than let me struggle for a grip. But he wasn't boring. He was a gentleman and a brute. I threw my head back and panted at the enclosed ceiling.

"M-Max..." The name trembled on my lips. It felt strange because it was usually Damon's that lived there. "Max. Max. _Max!_ " I evicted him.

 

I lay on the seat of the Ferris wheel in darkness, arms locked around the plush dog on my chest, staring at the ceiling. Soft fur kept my bare skin warm, but the seat was frigid. My pants on the floor of the capsule buzzed angrily as if I had a hornet stowed in the pocket. It was my phone overflowing with angry messages and missed calls from Damon: they started out slow, then snowballed into an avalanche that I was afraid to face now. Massimo was standing at the window, holding his face in a hand. I knew that position: _regret_. I tightened my grip on the dog.

"You're an Akira," he shared a random snippet from his train of thought.

"And you're a D'Oro." It was his turn to freeze when he heard the sound of the gun. It should have sounded familiar anyway, it was his. He turned his head slowly to see me standing there with the golden revolver pointed at him, my other arm looped around the prize.

"Careless," I said, low. "What is it about sex that turns smart men into fools?"

"Give yourself some credit." He tried to laugh but it sounded like a cough as he turned around, hands raised in surrender. I had found an escape from that Ferris wheel - but that wasn't the only exit strategy I'd devised that night. The wheel lurched into motion; we were going down. Slowly, one capsule at a time as the wheel stopped periodically to let out passengers. Massimo's gaze darted quickly out the window, then back to the gun, no doubt calculating the space and time between them.

"I'm leaving him," I said, "To-" The buzz of the phone, loud against the floor forced me to pause and recollect myself. "To be with you." He was shocked by my proposition.

"Are you _insane?_ "

"If I am, then it is only the same type of insane as you. I... I can't be the only one who felt something tonight!" I saw it in his eyes.

"It doesn't matter what I felt... You're an _Akira._ "

"You said you didn't care about tradition," I pleaded with him.

"Bending tradition is one thing, _betrayal_ is another."

"It's nobody's business."

Massimo ran his fingers anxiously through the gold highlights in his hair. A frustrated noise escaped between gritted teeth.  

"Your mind games won't work on me, yakuza filth!" he cursed at me. I flinched. "Go ahead and shoot. A D'Oro would never prostitute himself, not even for his life!"

"So be it." Even as I aimed straight for his head, he looked resolute. Then my fingers trembled. Tears spilled down my cheeks on cue. "So you won't change your mind. And I can't change mine." I changed direction and pressed the gun to my own head, squeezed my eyes shut and pulled the trigger.

" _NO!_ " Massimo's cry rang out at the same time as the gunshot. I could feel him before I opened my eyes to find him wrapped around me tightly, holding my wrist where he angled it away. The muzzle still smoked ominously.

Massimo kissed me passionately, then broke off to place frantic kisses on my neck and chest, then back again, soaking in my lips.

"I accept," he gasped desperately, just as the Ferris wheel doors opened.

 

###

 

I ride on Massimo's shoulders, lazily resting my chin on his head as we walk down the boardwalk. I bite into the bright blue cotton candy hanging in my grip, then tear off a piece and feed it to Massimo.

"This place hasn't changed a bit," he muses.

"But we have." I remind him.

Massimo laughs abruptly. "I know... Who would have thought? I was so sure one of us would kill the other before our one-month anniversary."

"I may have wanted to put a bullet in your head when you decided to celebrate it... Who does that?" I smile at him.

"I never would have until I met you," he confesses. "I just wanted to make it official."

"Well... I thought it was very sweet." I plant a kiss on the top of his head.

Just then, I notice a pair of familiar figures moving quickly through the crowd. One in a hoodie and the other wearing a baseball cap over scruffy blonde hair.

"Isn't that your mom?" asks Massimo.

"Well don't just stand here, follow them!" I tug on his hair a little bit.

Bumbling Massimo has trouble keeping up with the smaller women; they slip through the crowd like ninjas. I think we've lost them when I notice the pair turning the corner.

"There!" I point. Massimo lets me off his shoulders as we near the narrow lane between two shops. "This is so dangerous, what are they doing outside the Pagoda by themselves-" I'm muttering as I peer around the corner. Then I fall silent. Faces half obscured by the edge of Mother's hood, but not enough to hide their lips locked together. Himawari has her hands hovering shyly on Mother's chest. Her leg pops romantically into the air. They part slowly and Kaa-san's hand lifts to caress the smaller woman's face.

"Hime," I hear her say.

Withdrawing quickly, I stand with my back to the wall.

"Jurei..." Massimo begins but doesn't know where to go with it, looking at me regretfully. He saw too.

"They're in love," I say in an exhausted sigh.

"They seem happy together," He tries his best to put a spin on it.

"What kind of happiness is that?" I wonder aloud, "Bound to a man they don't love while he keeps them apart? They can never be wed." I lift my hand and stare at it. On the other side, Massimo's eyes focus on my ring finger. He looks back at me when I speak, "More traditions to keep us all apart."

"I know what will cheer you up," he says simply.

Massimo leads me to that fateful Ferris wheel. The teenager manning the ride stands straight up as we approach.

"Oh no, not you two again..." he groans, "I got in so much trouble with my manager the last time I let you cut in line - and then he found a bullet hole in the car, man, what the fuck were you two doing in there?"

"I'd tell you, but then I'd have to kill you." I raise an eyebrow. The teen tugs on his collar and stretches it around.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is... It'll be double this time."

"I wonder if Damon is looking for an intern." I smile at Massimo who bursts out laughing.

 

He looks nervous. Massimo has an arm around me but he can't look at me, staring at the out the window instead. It started raining on the way up. Even the tiny smile I wear begins to fade. I hate the rain.

"Jurei," He squeezes my shoulder. "I... I want to ask you something." But he looks so tense...

"You need to loosen up a little bit." I turn his face this way by the chin and kiss him. Soon his hands are in my hair and then my back is lowering itself to the seat of the Ferris wheel while he gets on top. _There you are._

 

As we pull apart, panting and sweaty, Massimo looks reinvigorated. They say it helps to picture everyone naked, so I'll bet my actually _being_ naked helps that much more. He gets down on one knee on the floor of the capsule while I roll onto my side on the seat, offering him a hand to hold. I smile knowingly as he begins,

"Jurei, we both know that it would have been _far_ easier for everyone involved if I had just shot you the day we met." I swat his shoulder playfully; he chuckles and goes on, "But if I did that, I would never have known how much my life would change with you in it. And so what if our families never come around? You _are_ my family. You're the one I want to come home to every night for the rest of my life. The one I wake up beside every morning. And right now... I want to make it official." He reaches for his pocket.

Just then, his phone vibrates loudly.

I cock an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Rude." He curses as he digs it out of the other pocket.

"What could be so important-" His expression changes from anger to confusion.

"What is it?" He doesn't answer.

 _"Oh Damon."_ That's when I hear my own voice coming from his phone.

"What is this?" he demands quietly as he turns the phone to me. I see the video of myself under Damon at Club Chimaera. It was sent to him from an unknown number. My hands close over my mouth in horror. " _What is this?!_ " Shouting now, but he already knows there's no answer I can give to make this alright. "You're cheating on me?! You two-timing whore son of a bitch-" He climbs clumsily into his pants.

"Massimo, listen, _please_ ," My lip trembles. Holding my sweater up over my chest- perhaps to unsucessfully hide my own shame, I grab his arm. "Max, I made a mistake-" He tugs away sharply.

"Don't fucking touch me!" Then he's banging on the window. "Let me out of this rat trap! Get me out of here!" The attendant might have actually heard him as the ride begins to move again.

Massimo storms out of the car into the pouring rain, shoving an arm brusquely into his coat sleeve as he goes. I rush forward and grab his hand again, desperate.

"Max!" He shifts like an angry squall, hand raised as if to bring it down on me. I flinch on instinct, hiding behind the pathetic defense of my thin arms. Then his expression wavers and he drops it, shocked with himself.

"Jurei, I am not that person." The wetness coursing down his cheeks is not just the rain. "Please don't turn me into that person..." Massimo fades into the downpour.

I'm shaking. My sweater feels heavy, soaked with rain. It seems to be weighing my arm down in an attempt to stop me when my phone buzzes. I fetch it from my pocket.

 

'You still owe me dinner'

 

My blood runs colder than the rain. It's from Damon. The typing icon appears. I'm dreading the message from the other side.

 

'Tonight'

 

###

 

The light in my bathroom scalds me with its intensity. Leaning in close to the mirror, I swipe a brush under a honey brown eye. Mechanical. Silent. But it's too bright. So bright that it washes out my porcelain complexion. I'm fading into the tiled background. And then the light flickers. Suddenly, I'm not in my bathroom anymore. A straight razor lies by the faucet: the one Damon uses to shave with. My eyes dart quickly back to the mirror.

"No... no..." I moan. Bruises appear on my face like spots developing on a withered apple. I knock over his toothbrush as I lash out for a tube of makeup. I dab at my face frantically, but the light concealer turns dark as soon as it touches my skin, making it worse. "Go away..."  I whisper. Then I freeze when a shadow slips into the bathroom with me. The makeup products drop into the sink with a clatter. Hands slide around my waist possessively. An eye as dark as a black hole appears over my shoulder.

"You look beautiful," says Damon.

"Damon," I break down, shaking. "Leave me _alone_."

"I'll never leave you alone, Jurei, not like _he_ did." His voice drips in my ear like slow poison.

"You're cruel," I tell him. But he knows that.

"It's what you deserve. It's better than what you deserve."  

"That's not true!" I argue. He winds a length of my hair languidly around his finger.  

"You're a dirty, dirty cheater, Jurei. Not to mention a liar. And no one even likes you..." I choke on my words, staring in horror at the creature in the mirror. "Did you really think someone like him could fall for _you?_ No... A monster like you needs a monster like me." I see the glint of his teeth as thin lips curl into a grin, so close to my ear I think he might bite. "And if you ever try to leave me again, I might just have to hurt you _._ " He picks up the razor. I scream.  
"Jurei!" I whip around. Keiichi is in the doorway. When I turn back to the mirror, I'm in my own bathroom again. Damon is gone, and so are the bruises. "Are you okay?" My brother is asking me. "I heard you screaming and-"

"N-Nii-san-" Is all I get out before I collapse in his arms.

"Jurei, what the hell-" He props me up. "You're bleeding!" A cut at the inner thigh. A trickle of blood snakes slowly down my leg. Did I do it to myself? Or did I meet a demon? Keiichi touches my forehead and says in alarm, "You're burning up. Were you out in the rain? You know how the rain makes you sick..." I focus on the green fronds of his tattoo under his sleeves. Keiichi tries to lay me down in bed, but I dig my fingers into his robe and tear it off. The cloth falls away like a silk curtain unveiling a masterpiece. Brilliant tangerine tigers leap across his arms, bounding between lush green stalks of bamboo. I let my gaze run over his chest as my hands crawl his back.

"Your tattoos," I whisper, "They're so beautiful..." Unwanted tears well up. Then I'm raking at my own skin, trying to claw it off. This empty. Meaningless. Blank. Skin. Just like the rest of me. _Kuuhaku._

"Jurei..." There's pain in my brother's eyes. He's been growing out his straight, dark blue hair. I never noticed before, just how much he looks like Okina. He has her measured, calm countenance when he wants to. It suits him much better than Father's rage, anyway. "You are making yourself crazy. You're drinking again. You were seen with Damon..."

My heart pounds. "Seen by who?"

"That's not important. Forget what I said," he says, "Forget everything. You can have anything you want, Jurei, just stop doing this to yourself... Your irezumi ceremony- it can be tomorrow, just say the word," he begs me. My lips tremble. Isn't this what I wanted?

"By Kenta," I say instead, "You had me followed again. By your dog _._ Did he take a picture? Or maybe a _video_."

"Jurei, please-"

"No! Get away from me!" I push him away and stagger out of bed, starting to run.

" _Jurei!_ " Keiichi's voice echoes after me.

 

The door opens; I lift my face to the light spilling out.

"You came!" Damon laughs. "Did you find the place okay?" Then laughs again. He lets the door swing open all the way as he swivels around and walks back into his penthouse apartment. He dressed up for me: in a button down shirt and vest combo, the crisp white sleeves folded up over his elbows. It even smells like... cooking. This is a 'take me back' dinner offering. He shakes a skillet briefly on the stove.

"I hope you like chicken marsala." Oh god, not Italian. Then he notices I'm still standing in the doorway. "Is something wrong?"

"Take me back."

He looks surprised. "What... Did you just say?"

I say it a little louder, "Take me back." He heard me that time, although he heard me the first time too.

Damon walks this way, eyeing me strangely as he towels his hands off with a kitchen cloth.

"What about Massimo?" he asks, suspicious.

"He left me." I follow him to the corner of my field of vision - see his grin just before it disappears behind me. I jolt a little when I hear the door close. He didn't slam it, but it shut with such finality.

"Welcome home, Rei."

 

###

 

Damon isn't a bad cook at all. On my back on the dinner table, I turned into the main course. Wearing nothing but white platform heels: he borrowed a page from his stripper boyfriend's book, I see. My arms are pinned uselessly to my sides with my legs in the air, tied together at the ankles. Trussed like a chicken on its way to the sweltering heat of an oven. He skipped a few steps, already eating me out while he bullies my cock to attention. Desperate noises escape around the edges of my cloth gag. Then a panicked one when he pops between my legs, sliding on top of me. He presses a kiss on my lips even though I can't reciprocate.

"I knew you'd come back... I knew you would. You always come back." Damon fits himself in, rapidly gathering speed. My face is trapped in his grip, subject to starved kisses while he pounds me. His breathing is hot and heavy by my ear: "I love you, Rei..." Tense muscles suddenly relax. I stare blankly at the bright white lights on the ceiling. I don't need drugs, I just need those words. He was always my best fix.

I climax hard; he tears my gag free just in time for me to cry out. This time, I devour him right back.

"You're hungry..." he growls between kisses. I earned my freedom: he cuts me loose. I shove him down on the table as I get up. His eyes are on me, wandering down my leg as it angles against his crotch. I pressure his package with the platform toe, hard enough to make him uncomfortable. Damon moans loudly.

"Miss me?" I ask, quiet.

"Sooooo much." He folds his arms behind his head. Those eyes glitter like black diamonds, just for me.

He cocks an eyebrow when I reveal his phone and waggle it tauntingly.

"Let's see..." I navigate to his slut boyfriend's number, which is hard because I can never quite remember his name... "Mario? Maslow? Manny? Macklemore? No, that's not it..." I mumble, scrolling.

"Matteo," Damon says helpfully.

"Ah." I hit video call at the same time as I slide down on Damon's pecker, which is already hard again, courtesy of the stud underneath me.

 _"Damon?"_ There he is. I hold up the phone so he can see both of us, moaning extra loud as I bounce. He drowns me out, screaming, _"Oh my god, ohmygod-!"_ Sobbing, through which he can barely get out the words: _"It's over, you bastard!"_ Matteo hangs up. I slam the phone down on the table, laughing so hard that I'm actually tearing up. Damon's shoulders shake with mirth.

"God, you're _nasty._ You could have let me hit that on the side a little longer..."

I grin at him. " _I'm_ the one who's nasty?"

 

The glass is cold beneath my fingertips. I stand with my legs apart, hands on the huge glass wall of his apartment overlooking the city. Rain drums a roaring indictment on the other side, wallowing the city in its rage, but it just sounds muffled from in here.

"Ready?" I hear his voice just over my shoulder. I nod, trembling slightly with anticipation. Damon draws my purple hair slowly to a side and tosses it over my shoulder, leaving my back exposed. The end of the whip hits the ground. Then it rears up and comes singing through the air.

The first strike makes me scream because _it's been too long._ Then it's like riding a bike. My body writhes under his movements, finds the space to expand between blows and then contracts tightly for another one. I bite my lip, but I don't mind letting him hear me cry out: a reward; a treat, for the _dog_ that he is. He eats it all up. The beatings are a sacred ritual. I can feel his brutal designs drawing themselves over my back: a latticework of burning red and purple. Maybe these are the marks that I was meant to bear. The cruel whip rests, dripping blood on the floor while Damon catches his breath. I look over my shoulder to see him admiring his own work. I never let my posture slip, not even for a second, balanced perfectly on high heels.

"Does it please you, Senpai?" I purr. He looks at me, breathless.

"Rei, I... _I'm in love with you._ " The corner of my lips tugs into a smile. Who's worshipping who? Damon leaves me briefly. I hear him moving things in the kitchen while I gaze out at the amazing penthouse view.

The lights go out. I've focused again. The first thing I notice is glowing, white-hot light. Damon's dark shape moves through the silent apartment toward me. He swings the branding iron as he goes.

"You don't get to leave again. This time you're mine. _Forever_."

I open my mouth but the words won't come out.

"Check it out," he goes on, lifting the iron. "I even got you a ring." Sure enough, the scalding hot brand is in the shape of a circle. An engagement ring.

My knees hit the floor. I bow my head, presenting myself to the master. Dangerous heat peruses my back, but I know he's been thinking about this for a while when he settles almost at once on the small of my back, just above my ass.

"I..." I squeeze my eyes shut and brace for the pain. "I accept." But if I had a real say in any of this, it was a long time ago.

 

Banging on the door makes us both freeze. An explosive breath of pent-up air escapes my lungs.

Damon mutters as he turns to the door, "If that's Jehovah's Witness again, I swear to god,"

"That's just what they want you to do," I hiss.

"Open up! Open this fucking door, Damon!" The unmistakable sound of Massimo's voice. The door shudders violently again. Damon goes pale as a ghost.

"But how-!" he gapes. He turns to me in horror when I say quite calmly,

"Your boyfriend isn't the only one I invited to dinner." Then I clear my throat softly and fling myself to the floor on my side, sobbing and screaming bloody murder. Massimo shoulders down the door and blusters into the room, revolver at the ready. His eyes widen at the scene and I have to fight back a smile. I _knew_ he would come back. Because he always does.  

"Max help! _Help me!_ " I reach for him, shaking all over. Damon looks at me in amazement.

"You _bitch._ " Bullets fly through the air; Damon throws himself behind his nice cream sectional. I crawl to safety under the coffee table, providing a spirited background score of high-pitched shrieking. Damon finds his own police-issued gun and pops over the back of the couch to return fire. Massimo flips the dining table for cover.

"He's toying with you!" Damon shouts over to him. "With both of us!"

"Shut your mouth, you slimy cop! It was you! It was you all along!" Massimo pushes forward with the table, cornering Damon, who makes a desperate escape attempt. Massimo is there to stop him cold with a punch in the face. Damon has enough presence of mind to bring up his arms to deaden the next blow, but takes the third to the gut. Massimo goes straight back for his head; he isn't even trying to take it easy on the guy.

Damon catches himself on an end table as he gasps for breath. The mafioso approaches from behind, grabbing the back of his collar. I see Damon's fingers curl around the neck of a table lamp.

"Max, watch out!" My warning came late as he spins around and shatters the glass base against the side of Massimo's head. Sparkling shards skitter over the carpet. Then Damon drives the jagged half left in his hand deep into Massimo's chest.

"Why don't you take a seat right here?" Damon growls, forcing him down on the sofa. Red seeps into the cream upholstery. He puts both hands on the lamp and shoves it deeper while Massimo makes agonized noises. "And let me do us _both_ a favor." Damon's gaze flicks to me.

He laughs as he drags me out shrieking from under the table by the hair. "Trust me, we'll all be laughing about this over a beer in a few days." Damon's knuckles are twisted into purple strands; he forces me to stumble to the kitchen.

"Fucking bitch." An open-handed blow lands across my face; I buckle. The next strike returns the opposite direction, backhanded. I catch myself with my hands on the floor. "This time I'll beat you to _death!_ " I watch, horrified, as he picks up a cast iron skillet.

"Damon, please," I beg him, holding trembling arms up in front of my face.

"Get away from him!" A gunshot saves my life. The skillet strikes the floor by my head with a loud clang while I recoil from the sound. Damon is reeling, clutching his bleeding shoulder. I tear open the oven to trip him up; he sprawls over the door and Massimo limps around the granite island to collect.

Screaming fills the swanky penthouse as Massimo drags Damon slowly but purposefully by the ankle toward the glass wall, a determined look in his eyes. He slings the rifle from over his shoulder and peppers the glass back and forth with gunfire. It falls away in pieces, leaving behind a gaping hole that lets the weather in. Wind and rain howl through the penthouse and whip anything not bolted down into a vortex of a past life. I crouch, wrapping my hair to my head. Massimo drags Damon right to the edge and pauses there on the soaked carpet.

"You can't do this to me," Damon begs for his life. There's nothing between them and that dizzying plunge. "I'm an asset to you! My father will come after you!"

"Don't," Massimo growls, "Don't die begging. Die like a man." But he does stop - surprised - when I wrap myself around his leg. I look up at him through wet sections of hair slicked to my face.

"Don't do it. You are not this person."

Massimo glances away, then back at me, "Uh, Jurei, I'm a _mobster?_ I'm pretty sure I'm this particular type of person."  
"Don't." I don't have to explain myself, pressing my forehead to his pant leg. He softens up.

"Whatever you say, my love." Massimo drops a relieved-looking Damon who rolls over on his back, catching his breath. Then I'm wrapped up in a warm coat. I cling tightly to Massimo, legs and arms locked around him as he scoops me up. Shaking as he carries me away - he thinks, with tears. But Damon can see that over Massimo's shoulder, I'm really stifling silent laughter. Damon hates being played; I see it in his darkening gaze: he would never let me have the last move. If I was smart, I would have let Massimo kill him. But I'm not smart. I'm a _genius._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you or a loved one is in an abusive relationship, or suspect you might be, you can get real help and access to resources by calling the National Domestic Violence Hotline 1-800-799-7233 or visiting their (please exercise caution if you think your internet activities are being monitored) [ website](https://www.thehotline.org/).
> 
> Domestic violence and abuse have always been tags for this work. If in spite of that, this content caught you off guard or you found it triggering, I am deeply sorry and always open to suggestions on how to be more sensitive about the way I handle content warnings. You can always reach out to me, the author, privately through email: vxkassxv@gmail.com. As always, thank you for reading 'The Life and Crimes'!
> 
> -KassiopeiaX


	10. Drowning in Blue

I stare at Massimo's message.

 

'I don't think I'm ready yet'

 

 _Oh but my love, you soon will be._ Trace my fingers over the satisfyingly smooth surface of the screen I had replaced. All those broken pieces: together at last.  

 _You'll be a king soon._ My body demands my attention as a warm, fuzzy tide of pleasure washes over me, gently knocking the phone from my grip. It falls silently to the floor.

 _And then, I won't have to do this anymore._ I reward the man on top of me with a passionate moan. Hands race through another man's hair, commanding him to go faster. Medium-length red; he has his face buried in my chest and an arm locked around my torso. The other holds a cigarette which is slowly weaving a smoky miasma against the grey roof of his car.

 _Then I wouldn't slum it in a stranger's car which reeks of tobacco._ The lung-scorching odor soaked into the upholstery and his clothes until it withered me where I lay, then wove itself into my senses and became a part of my fabric. Now I can't discern the smell at all.

 _Then it will be you calling my name._ "Eclipse, Eclipse," the man gasps out 'my' name. I squeeze my eyes shut, legs trembling. I prop my bare feet up against the opposite window for leverage. The tension escapes all at once; we both collapse on the backseat.

 _And I can lie in YOUR afterglow._ _Your blinding, brilliant, golden afterglow._ He disentangles himself from me to sit up, panting softly at the ceiling before dragging on the cigarette.

 _Because when you are king, I'll be your queen._ A heavy grey eye rests on me as smoke rolls over his lips.

But until then - until that day - I'll be fucking Commander Cisco Gunner.

"So what do you think?" I smile as I wind a lock of his hair around a long finger.

"You were amazing."

"I meant about the proposal."

He faces forward again. "I am still considering your proposal."

 _Gunner._ now there's a name almost on par with Akira. Almost. He is the illustrious heir to a military dynasty: the kind of client that could even draw a reclusive mafia don out of hiding.

"Cosa nostra has been patient enough," I say. He watches with lustful eyes as I climb into his lap, one knee on either side. I link my arms around his neck. "You've had a week to consider our offer. In fact, I'm starting to think you aren't interested..."

He runs a hand over my chest. "Of _course_ I'm interested in a drug that turns average men into super soldiers. I've seen the video and read your research."

"And?"

"It's just..." He closes his eyes and exhales. "A _5%_ mortality rate? That's higher than the percentage of people who experience gastrointestinal distress from taking aspirin." Well, then he _really_ would not have liked the numbers before I falsified them.

"You know an awful lot about aspirin," I say. Suddenly, a man passes by outside the window. From here I can see he has short red hair and wears a rugged brown jacket.

"Oh look, there goes the reason," Cisco grumbles as he pushes me flat to hide me from view.

"Ex?" I sympathize.

His mouth tilts in non-amusement. "My brother."  

"Oh. I have plenty of those too."

Cisco looks over his shoulder. "I think he's go- _ah!_ " A shape pounds against the other window; he whips back around. Cisco's brother has his arms up on the glass, shading away the glare so he can peer inside.

"Wow, you're actually getting some for a change!" He sounds muffled on the other side.

"Rayce, get _lost!_ " Cisco's coat settles on my face where he tossed it. It isn't doing much to conceal the rest of me.

Rayce whistles. "And he looks like a hot one too. Nice score." Then laughs at his brother's indignant expression.

I curl my fingers over the top of the coat and pull it down just slightly. He's got that... That 'I'm a bad idea but won't it be fun?' grin. Those 'one more night' eyes. A 'good luck forgetting me' laugh.

"Hey Cissy, did you see my shirt?" He stretches the graphic tee he wears between his hands. It proclaims, rather presumptuously, 'Best Uncle Ever'.

"Very cute."

"Yeah, some guy traded it to me for a bottle of Henny. Now you just gotta work on doing _that._ " He points at me. "To the lady in _there._ " Then at the house. And how fortunate for him to have booked that breeder woman, or else I wouldn't have known he was in town. "Don't worry, babe." Rayce grins down at me. "You can play with me instead. Mine's bigger anyway." Then winks.

" _Rayce!_ " Cisco shouts at him. I slowly lift the coat over my face again and slip my fingers underneath it. Gunner's brother is my favorite brand of trouble - I can just tell. But I need to stay focused for longer than one afternoon if I'm going to pull this off.

"Fuck off, would you?" says Cisco.

"Alright, alright, I'm going..." He's heading back to the house as he lifts a hand in farewell. "Hey, I'm proud of you, you hear me?"

Cisco sticks his head out the window. "And take out the garbage while you're at it!"

"Proud of you!" He points back. Don Lazarre D'Oro has a better chance of getting taken out than that garbage. I can't help but smile.

I sit up once Rayce is gone; the coat falls in my lap. "Congratulations on the new baby."

"Thanks... But there isn't one yet," says Cisco. He pensively crumbles his cigarette in the ashtray. I watch in amazement as he immediately lights another. He does know that siring an heir doesn't mean he has die right away, right?

"But there soon will be... Don't you want to bring that baby into a safer world? A world in which we are not fighting a constant battle for our very survival? A world in which..." I finger the military patches on his jacket distractedly. "He won't have to welcome you home in a flag-wrapped casket." A hand latches onto my wrist. It squeezes just shy of hurting me. I meet his stony gaze unblinkingly. "So what will it be, Gunner?" Are you willing to do what it takes to win the war?

"Alright," he says at last, quiet. "Tell them I can come to the table. _But_ I don't know if I'm buying yet." A ruthless army commander and a sleazy crime family with a secret weapon... They're a match made in heaven. All they needed was the right matchmaker.

I try not to grin too wide. "I will inform Don Lazarre." By which I mean, I will sockpuppet Cisco, put in a massive order of aether purple, then arrange a meeting to seal the deal. He lets out an involuntary snort of laughter at that.

"Are you sure his name isn't Tony? I feel like I'm trapped in a bad crime drama."

 

###

 

Yosuke's mother is in the usual place, seated at the base of a cherry tree, under the waxed paper of her deep green parasol. An expression of horror is fixed on Yoko's face as she stares vacantly forward, witnessing a tragedy on the horizon that only she can see, locked up in her own head and unable to warn anyone. Rumors swirl around her. Childhood trauma is the predominant school of thought, but the truth is foggy now with both time and neglect. Yoko lets out a small shriek as a hand lands on her shoulder.

"Kaa-chan, it's just me." Yosuke laughs as he takes a seat beside her

"Oh." She trembles.

"I found the most incredible antique store at the night market the other day," Yosuke fills in her silence with ceaseless conversation as if she would fall through the gaps. "Genuine walnut furniture - handcrafted! And the finishings: _oh._ You would have liked it. I'll take you there sometime if you want." He places a pair of chopsticks in her limp hands. They are already precariously - maddeningly - rolling loose while he lifts takeout boxes from a thin plastic bag. By the time he's done unpacking, the chopsticks have already slid from her grasp, clattering to the ground like pick up sticks. Without missing a beat, Yosuke picks them right up, wipes them clean and patiently folds her fingers over the utensils this time, patting her stiff knuckles. She responds by holding the chopsticks as if with the last of the strength in her body.

"Nepalese today," he says as he peels the plastic lid from a takeout box. "Thukpa. It's got chicken in it or something. Try some?"

"I'm not... Very hungry," Yoko finally speaks. It's progress

"That's okay. Look what else I got you." He unveils it as if performing a magic trick: a small, worn-out hardbound book. "Tan-ta-ra! First edition, Robert Frost."

"Oh, Yosuke..." That gets her attention. She takes the book, reverently tracing her fingers over the cloth. "It's wonderful."

"Read me something." He flops over casually, laying his head in her lap.

"Well... Okay." Her voice is the optimal kind of voice for reading poetry: that combination of crystal clear enunciation and melody.

"Nature’s first green is gold,

Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf's a flower;

But only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf.

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay."

"Sugoi..." Yosuke marvels, staring up at the leaves. Yoko smiles down at her son, running thin fingers through his green hair.

"We can read something else, you know." She sounds bashful.

"No way; Robert Frost is my jam. I just wouldn't feel like myself without him. Good old Robert." She chuckles at that. "Read it to me again," he requests.

The poem reinvigorates Yoko like a shot of dopamine and awakens her appetite. She tucks into her lunch at last.

"Tell me about the night market," she says. Yosuke engages the strange, distant woman with small talk - but he can even make small talk sound like the most meaningful business in the world. Yoko watches him close, smiling as he playfully steals a piece of meat from her bowl. She digs in her chopsticks and dodges hands held up in defense to feed him.  

Yosuke finally completes this important lunch ritual. "See you tomorrow, Kaa-chan!"

"Wait-" Yoko hugs his head to her chest and places a kiss on the top of it before she lets him go. "Be careful out there..."

"I will; don't worry about me." Then she settles against the tree to vanish into a book.

"Thanks for waiting," Yosuke says as he approaches me sitting on a bench not too far away. "Jurei, I've been thinking about what happened... I feel just awful about the way you found out."  

"But not the rest of it." I laugh sarcastically. He sits beside me.

"You can't blame Cherise. Your relationship with her has changed so much. _You've_... Changed so much."

I glance at him suddenly; he sounds nervous when he says, "Alright, how can I make it up to you?"

"I will accept nothing less than Cherise's adultering pinky finger in a Tiffany box," I say unblinkingly. His eyes widen. Then dart to and fro.

"O-Oh."

"Kidding. I'm kidding."

" _Oh._ " His laughter sounds awkward. "That's good because I can't..." I see his adam's apple bob. "I can never tell with you."

I change the subject to more pressing matters. "Are you still hosting the Stratos charity auction tonight?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I have an item I'd like to add to the catalog."

"Oh really? And what might that be?" He grins.

I check my phone for the time. "It should be arriving in about an hour."

 

###

 

A cargo ship glides inconspicuously into Siren's Bay. This particular cargo is no one's business and most know better than to pry. The beat-up ship is well worn: the hull covered in scratches hinting at treacherous straits and rough waters which bore it here. It comes unmarked and goes unnoted like a phantom, at least, that's how it's supposed to be. Today, a dock worker looks up from the mooring hitch as a group of men in suits approach, led by a much smaller man in a hoodie.  

"Hey, you aren't the usual-" He cuts himself off with a gurgling noise as the hooded man jabs a sedative-filled syringe in his neck and downs the plunger.

"Take it easy, buddy we'll handle things from here!" Eclipse says cheerfully as he pats the dock worker on the back. The hijacker easily shoulders the limpening body off to one of his henchmen before skipping up the gangway.

In the cargo room, he stands back to let a stronger mafioso pry open a crate. Bright, cerulean blue powder spills like sand, switching on a light in his eyes.

"Stolen blue, my favorite color... Load 'em up, boys, daddy's got a biiig army contract to fill!"

His radio crackles: _"Boss, we got trouble."_

"What?" Eclipse demands, "The yakuza aren't due to pick up their shipment for an hour! My informant confirmed it himself!"

_"It isn't yakuza."_

Eclipse backtracks rapidly, just in time to see his _least_ favorite color: the deep blue of a police uniform closing in on the pier.

"CPD, let me through!" Damon holds up his silver badge. He almost looks heroic, but even when he's doing the right thing, it's for the wrong reasons.

The lieutenant keeping watch blocks his path, holding both hands up disarmingly. "Now hold on just a-" He never does get that second, falling backward with a bullet hole in his head. Damon storms the ship, pistol still smoking.

"Shit!" Eclipse reports to his men, "I hope you boys are in the mood for carbonara because we've got cops..." They look at him blankly. "What? Bacon? Pigs? Cops? Oh, it was funny; you're all stiffs... Now get up there, we've got a fight on our hands!"

Damon sees them coming; he ducks behind a shipping container for cover. His teammate isn't fast enough and takes a bullet to the gut, crumpling at once. Peering around the corner, Damon returns fire without bothering to drag his fallen comrade to shelter. That's right. Do my job for me, _dog_.

"You're not yakuza..." he mutters. Damon pushes forward, relentless. He corners two mafiosos in a narrow space between a container and the edge of the ship. Before they can so much as raise their weapons, he downs them both with a pair of well-placed bullets. Well trained. When a third rounds the corner, he whirls around and tips him clear over the railing. So well trained.

The mafia lieutenant shrieks, grabbing the edge for dear life. The black sole of a boot comes down hard on his knuckles, crushing them flat into a release. A body tumbles toward the churning sea. Damon cleared his path to the lower deck and that's all he cares about: he isn't looking for glory, he isn't even looking for victory. He wants one person. _Just one person_. Damon abandons the scuffle above as he descends the stairs, closing in on the scent now. Blue smoke spews through a vent: burning blue. The corner of his lips tweaks upward.

"There you are." Digging into a pocket, Damon presses a respirator mask to the lower half of his face and kicks down the door to the cargo hold. A cloud of blue smoke engulfs him. Damon scans stacks of crates.

He perks - _movement._

"Freeze!" Shots ricochet from the metal walls, lagging inches behind a fleeing silhouette. Damon heads him off, sprinting to the other side. He spins around the corner just in time to confront Eclipse, knocking him hard in the face with the butt of his pistol. A gasp and Eclipse's respirator mask is knocked free. It clatters to the floor where Damon pins it down. Eclipse cuts his losses and flees back the way he came through clouds of blue smoke with both hands covering his nose and mouth.

"You can't hold your breath forever!" Damon laughs. He scoops up the extra mask, swinging it casually around a finger as he returns to guard the door: the only way out of this smoky blue hell. "Starting to feel a little light-headed? That's the drug working its way through your system... Right about now, it's gotta be pretty hard to think straight," says Damon, "You're going to start to panic... And make bad decisions... Maybe kiss a few people you shouldn't. But then you just won't care anymore." He chuckles softly, no doubt wandering to memories I wish I could take back. Damon glances casually at his phone for the time. "You should be close to an overdose. Red will give you a heart attack. Blue puts you to sleep: it's not such a bad way to go. You'll try so hard to keep your eyes open, but in 3... 2... 1 - you're unconscious."  

Damon stretches his arms languidly over his head as he trots through the hold. "And 60 seconds from an OD. So you'd better hope I find you first." He starts looking impatient when he doesn't find Eclipse right away.

"Where the hell are you..." A dark shape unfolds on top of the crate behind him, holding a crowbar over its head. Damon sees the shadow it cast on the ground with a split second to spare. He dodges the crowbar swinging clumsily, then grips the end. Tugging on it sharply, he brings Eclipse tumbling to his level. There's nowhere to run this time, although Eclipse will try to like the weasel he is.

"Let go! Let go of me!" He struggles against the cop's strong arms closing around him. He appears to be wearing some kind of backup gas mask. Damon wrenches it down as he drags Eclipse to the open crate.

He pushes Eclipse's face into spilled aether blue, forcing him to breathe in, then lifts him by the hood, shouting, "Where's Jurei?!"

"I-I don't know-!" And back down into the blue. Muffled screaming - which will only serve to circulate the drug faster through his lungs. Damon lifts him again; Eclipse gasps out, "He was supposed to be here! I had information... Good information..." Those last words come out wheezy; the drugs hit him like a punch in the head.

"Who are you?! Who sent you?!" Damon demands, shaking him by the front of his clothes, but Eclipse isn't home anymore. He lets out a spacey giggle; his eyes wander off then roll back in his head. "Fuck." Damon snaps the respirator back on him before he overdoses.  

One of the other cops has caught up with him, holding a mask to his own face.

"What a mess..." He looks around in amazement. Then he notices the backup gas mask hanging around Eclipse's neck. "Hang on... Is that..." Damon rubs the cloth cup between his fingers.

"A bra," he confirms. "Which doubles as a gas mask."

"What the hell is going on here..."  

Damon gives a start when his phone vibrates and snarls at the id.

He moves out of earshot of his colleague and demands, "Where are you?"

 _"No foreplay today, Damon?"_ I tease.

"Our partnership is over." The only thing that motivates him more than money: _revenge._

 _"Is that what you called it? It's a shame about your face, by the way..."_ His hand moves automatically to the dark bruise there. _"I can recommend a few brands in your shade. You look like a natural beige. Maybe bisque."_

"Have you lost your _mind?_ I'll have a warrant by the end of the day, and then it's over. I'll knock down the doors of the Pagoda if I have to."

 _"Is that so? And how will you get a warrant for an anonymous buyer of unmarked packages using untraceable wire transfers bounced between offshore accounts?"_ He doesn't accept it out loud but I see the expression on his face. He knows it's all true because he's done business with me before.

Damon growls, "Doesn't matter. Nothing leaves this bay without going through me first. I'll ruin you, Jurei."

 _"But you already did that."_  

"No!" He raises his voice. "I wanted to go all the way with you!"

_"Well after a lifetime of corruption, abuse and rape, at least you didn't add commitment issues to the list..."_

"Do you think you can hide the truth from him forever? I know what you are and I was the only one who loved you anyway."

 _"Really."_ I remember the terror I felt. His weight crushing me, compressing my chest against the frigid countertop that morning so long ago - but it wasn't so long ago, was it?

I remember the reflection of flames dancing over white granite countertops.

I remember screaming as he held my hand to the stove.

I remember my own skin. _Melting._  

_Love?_

"You've ruined everything now," he says.

_"No, Damon. That was you."_

"Uh, Boss?" The other cop calls out.

"Not now, Fitzroy!" he snaps.

"There's something in here." Then he looks as Fitzroy shakes a document free of spilled aether blue. "It's... A bank statement. It's _yours._ " Damon's eyes widen in horror. Fitzroy realizes the danger too late. A gunshot; he collapses against the crate with a cry, clutching his chest as blood seeps between his fingers. Meanwhile, Damon is digging frantically through the crate. There's more: hundreds - thousands - of copies documenting his dirty dealings.

"No... No, no, no, you fucking _bitch..._ " He draws a flamethrower from the holster strapped to his back and desperately begins to torch the evidence. Fire blossoms in that dark place but doesn't make it much brighter through the smoke. Well, what do you know: that flamethrower really did come in handy for someone with a lot of history to burn.  

"Damon." The sound makes him freeze. He turns slowly to see a new figure in the doorway. This one, he can't just blow away with the rounded lips of a gun.  

Because at the door is the only man in the world who could bring him to heel: Police Commissioner Eli Schwartz.

"Dad," Damon breathes. Before he can say any more, cuffs clamp down, pinning his hands behind his back. Schwartz recites robotically, "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney-"

Damon abruptly bursts out laughing, shaking his head. "Dad, are you really going to read me my _rights?_ " Commissioner Schwartz looks gaunt. He stares ahead at the inferno Damon created.

Then he begins again. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."

"Dad!"

"You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you by the court."

"Dad, _please..._ "

"With these rights in mind, please don't say a word _. Damon, don't you say a word."_

So he screams instead. At the top of his lungs, struggling. The next thing I see is the incoming sole of Damon's boot as he crushes my bot in the crossfire. I blink instinctively.

 

###

 

It's Eclipse's turn to wake up in a cold, unfamiliar place. He lifts his head slowly in the darkness, blinking. Clutching his head, he groans. "Where am I?" He stumbles to his feet, unsteady, then falls forward, catching himself on the bars of his cage. Eyes widen in horror. "H-Hey, where am I? You'd better let me out! Or you're going to have to answer to some very powerful people!"

"I hope you aren't referring to your family." He freezes as I appear from the darkness. "They have no power here."  

"You... You...  But... I was arrested." Eclipse is retracing his steps pitifully slowly; it must so hard to see through the aether blue fog in his brain.

"You were." I guide him. "And once the police found out what you are, they had to send you to us. Because you _belong to us_."

"What?" In response, I switch on the lights. Sultry blue lighting illuminates the floor underneath the cage in rings, like the blue flames of a burner. Only now does he get a clear look at himself, jaw dropping open. "This is bad. Ooooh, this is really bad."

Eclipse wears a teddy made of golden chainmail which offers only a sheer gold screen of protection over fair skin. Small, perky tits outlined in gold. But most importantly, the tightly clamped clamshell of Eclipse's pussy between thin legs.

"Well, 7% of you anyway; we're on the board." I shrug. "That's what, half an arm?"

"Your math is as bad as your taste!"

I turn to Yosuke as he joins me by the cage. A cattle prod is balanced ominously over his shoulder. "Do you think you can work with this?"

"Oh yeah." He grins sleazily at the teenager in the cage. "So this is the famous Eclipse... What's your real name, babe?"

"Wouldn't you like to know, you glorified pimp!"

The prod lashes out violently against the bars of the cage, making them rattle like horrible, gnashing chimes - over and over until her brain is jostling around in her head.

Eclipse cowers as Yosuke shouts her down, "I asked you a question, bitch!"

"E-Ecleesi!" she stammers out; the bars quieten at last.

"It's pretty. Too bad you won't need it where you're going." He opens the cage door. "Out," he orders. Ecleesi stumbles on gold stilettos, either frightened out of her mind or literally unable to walk in them. Or both. Yosuke trails behind her like a shadow. He clicks his tongue and slaps her over the skinny knees with the prod. "Straighten up, would you? Ne, what kind of woman can't walk in heels?"

"Cut her some slack." I smile. "She's only had to be one for two minutes, after all."

Yosuke walks around Ecleesi, correcting her posture like a warden. Move this limb that way, turn that face this way; straighten a bend here, create one there; suck in a stomach and push out a chest - even if there isn't much to work with. When he's finally satisfied with his work, he slows down to run a hand through waves of rose gold hair and allows it to spring back softly. Ecleesi trembles through the handling like a frightened circus animal.

"Pepe le Pedophile." But she still has that spirit.

My brother claps both hands on his knees and bends to her level. "You're not a little girl anymore." He uses a tone that almost sounds soothing. "But you know, I'm not surprised you were a girl all along. I guess you could call me a bit of a feminist: I believe women can do _anything_." He claps twice and more lights glow to life, lining a catwalk. Cool blue illuminates the faces of rich, older men waiting for the auction to begin. Ecleesi stares at them, then at Yosuke with disbelieving eyes. She can't believe she's ended up here. She thought she was different.

Yosuke winks back. "That's why you have to keep them down."

He swivels around to our guests. "Welcome to the Stratos grand reopening auction. Your purchases tonight will go towards renovations, so please, dig deep! We have so many exciting pieces lined up for tonight: let's start with Ecleesi." He prods her forward. " _Walk._ " She wobbles into motion, eyes darting from side to side. Yosuke highlights her features: "Italian-made: note the ivory complexion and dark eyes. She's 16." He notices the unimpressed looks in the audience and goes immediately for the spin. "She's a _vintage!_ "

Ecleesi crumples a little more with each step as if to hide from the lecherous eyes stalking her down the runway. Yosuke corrects her posture by gripping her hair and yanking upward. She tears up. "Just look at that stunning coloration. For this piece... Let's start the bidding at 2.5." Silence. Perhaps they are unimpressed by the mascara currently trickling down her face. "2.3. 2.1, anyone?" This calls for a more heavy duty tactic. He pushes the twin prongs of his cattle prod to the metal of her teddy.

"What are you doing with that?" she wails.

" _Sparking_ some interest..." Yosuke jolts her. Ecleesi buckles, crying out as chainmail carries the voltage to sensitive places. Electricity makes her muscles tense: puts the slightest bit of definition to her thin body. But that isn't what the buyers react to, no, it's the pain in her eyes and the realization that _yes_... They could get used to that.

"2.1."

"Alright, now we're talking!" Yosuke grins. "We have our first bid of the evening."  

"You can't! You just can't!" Ecleesi is wailing now as the desperation kicks in. The realization that this is really happening. She bucks; her hair swings wildly. "I'm not like those other girls! My family will destroy you, filthy yakuza! They'll skin you for shoes! Massimo will never forgive you!" Well that was oddly direct.  

"You're being hysterical." He places the prongs on either side of her clit.

"W-Wait... Wait!" Cut off with a shriek as he shocks her again. Once. Twice. On the third dose, her knees fold and a shimmering rivulet travels down the inside of her thigh. Squirming in confusion, she rubs her thighs together.

"Don't tell me you've never had an orgasm before!" Yosuke laughs. He grabs her roughly as he really gets into a rhythm, manhandling her small pink clitoris.

"Please stop-!" she begs. Rose gold hair is slicked to her face with tears.

"You're a _virgin!_ Ha! Hear that, boys?"

"2.2!" The bid rises.

Yosuke is going to ride this wave for what it's worth. The prod goes to her breast, cruelly bracketing a nipple.

"2.3."

"2.35!"

Ecleesi bawls through the bidding at the top of her lungs, at the end of her rope, "Papa! _Mamaaaaa!_ " But they won't find her here.

"You should have stayed home with your dolls." Yosuke's expression turns dark, "Then this wouldn't be happening to you." It's far too easy to push Ecleesi off balance; she stumbles to her hands and knees, then sprawls onto her back when he aims a kick at her side. I notice the shift in his demeanor; that dangerous look in his eyes. This isn't part of the show.

"Hey... Hey, _look at me!_ " he yells. "Who the hell do you think you are?" He presses the prod to her suit again and punctuates every scathing indictment with a painful taze. "You're just a girl! You belong to us; what makes you think you can _steal_ from us?" He's breaking his own rule against gratuitous punishment. "How dare you lay a finger on him! He was my little brother! _He was..._ " I cock an eyebrow. A crooked hand is raised to him beseechingly. Blue spears of light filter between her fingers.

"I'm sorry... _I'm sorry..."_ Ecleesi pleads.

"You're about to be." The prongs touch her throat.

"I'll bid 3.2." That makes him stop and remember himself, heaving as he catches his breath. Yosuke takes a step back, clearing his throat as he adjusts his clothing. When he speaks, there's an uncharacteristic waver in his voice.

"That's 3.2 going once. Going twice." He slaps the prod against the runway floor. "Sold for 3.2." To a dirty oil mogul from the Null with a penchant for blondes in chains, I seem to recall. Ecleesi twitches: the only reaction she can muster up in response to her new fate. Inky blue eyes stare vacantly ahead as yakuza bouncers peel her soggy form from the floor and carry her away.

"Well done," I comment as Yosuke returns to my side. "I didn't think you were going to get a dime for her."  

Yosuke lets out a short, sharp laugh; flashes me a quick look. "You think so? I... Thought it was a bit much."

"You won't see me shedding any tears over Eclipse. _Ecleesi._ "

"Right... How did you know she was a girl?" he asks.

"Well, I did some reading in the Repopulation Society's record room," I sigh. "I found out that Alcine D'Oro checked in seeking medical attention for a case of preeclampsia. The surgeon on duty at the time noted she was 20 weeks pregnant. But 20 weeks later: we have no record of her giving birth or registering a baby. Normally we chalk that up to miscarriage. The only other reason not to register a baby is if they were hiding the birth of a _girl._ They wanted to keep her. To spite us, I'm sure. That was 16 years ago."

"And voila, a secret heir..." Yosuke nods in understanding.

I toss my shoulders. "And she sang a song about her _pockets_ , for god's sake. Only a girl would do that." I smile as Yosuke bursts out laughing. "That reminds me," I continue, "I need you to lie low for a little while. Spend some time with your mother: it'll be good for her."

"Where are you going?" He watches as I slip on Ecleesi's hoodie and facemask, tucking purple hair out of sight.

I flatten out my hand, palm face-down and prop my chin on top of it, posing girlishly as I affect a high-pitched tone: "Hi I'm Eclipse, a so-called child prodigy with too much time on my hands and a closet full of skin-suits. I have, like, a _weird_ obsession with roofies, not to mention my big brother Max, but I mean, what I really need is some Adderall and a Maxi pad. Mamma mia!" I toss in for good measure, then blink at Yosuke. "What do you think? Convincing?"

"Yeeeeeaaahh..." He starts nodding uncertainly but changes his mind midway and shakes his head instead. "Nooo, don't do that. Maybe try being a _silent_ Eclipse."

"There's an oxymoron if I ever heard one," I mutter, dry. "Whatever. It's showtime!"

"That was better," Yosuke says encouragingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, okay, if I make one more pasta reference, you can call the Italian embassy. 
> 
> So, did you see the Eclipse reveal coming a hundred miles away?


	11. Jurei.EXE

Il Delfino Pazzo is the kind of place where important things happen. Anniversaries, family reunions, proposals of both the marriage and business variety. You won't find Uncle Joe at this reunion, by the barbecue wearing a mustard-stained 'kiss the cook' apron; more like wealthy hedge fund heirs squabbling over the scraps of their father's empire while he luxuriates in the attentions of two or three kept women. On lease perhaps - it's catching on these days.

The exotic food, lush interiors, much-gossiped-about ties to the mafia and reputation for spectacle coalesce to make Delfino a chameleon of an establishment. It would suit an unhappy occasion just as well as it would a joyous one: providing atmosphere enough for the retirement party of an aging military contractor at one table, and just as easily, for a meeting of board members baying for their current CEO's blood at the table one over. For Lazarre tonight, one table is about to turn into another. 

Reservations are normally booked out months in advance - but of course, Don Lazarre can get one whenever he wants. I find myself buying into the hype. Delfino truly is a place for all seasons and occasions: deep enough in Lazarre's territory to lull him into a sense of security, but open enough to invite an attack. Or an  _ assassination.  _ One would think he would be a little more wary about entertaining here, considering he himself arranged the assassination attempt at the yakuza's very own version of Delfino: Stratos. But no. He is as brazen as the gold that adorns him from head to toe.

I notice blackout curtains drawn over the windows. Is it a part of this evening's show? Or a precaution taken by the mafia? Perhaps a happy marriage of convenience between the two...

_ "I have zero visibility,"  _ says the sniper in my earpiece. There it is: complication #1.

I pause before whispering a reply because spray-and-pray is not my style. "Proceed with Plan B. Drive-by." My hand is forced. It will have to do. Even a brute force algorithm can get the job done in a pinch, however inefficiently. "Update Keiichi." At least I can be assured that Keiichi knows what he's doing. I turn toward my date as he rests a hand on my waist. 

"You look different today," says Cisco.

"It might surprise you to learn this, but those of us with criminal backgrounds try to stay out of the public eye." I adjust my hoodie. The look in his eyes tells me that he would rather I adjusted it right off, and whatever else I have on as well... But the army commander has manners; he keeps those thoughts to himself for now. Although something tells me he may not be in the mood afterward...

He gives his name to the maitre-d. 

"Commander  _ Gunner _ , you need no introduction. It is an honor to have you dine with us this evening." The well-groomed man at the podium crosses an arm over his torso and bows. "I see that you are with the D'Oro party. I will take you to your table now." He swivels on the balls of his feet and leads us through curtains. The lighting inside is dim, highlighted by sconces of cool blue along the perimeter of a round dining area. It reminds me of a deep, underwater cavern starved for light. It reminds me of Stratos sealed off from the light high in the atmosphere. A black curtain encircles something in the center of the dining area. 

"What's in there?" Cisco asks.

"That would be this evening's entertainment," the maitre-d replies, "We trust you will find it quite  _ stirring _ ." He seats us at a table with a prime view.  

While Cisco interrogates the menu with severe eyes, I lower my gaze to my phone where I can see Lazarre's car pulling into the valet. I rapidly text out the plate number. In the video feed, Lazarre exits the car amidst a team of trusted lieutenants. My eyes alight on the gold of his hair like treasure crowning this stumpy, rather unattractive man.  _ Finally.  _

A flash of silver draws my attention to a second figure exiting the car on the other side. My spirits sink as fast as they rose.  _ Gizella _ . One of Lazarre's wives: a woman of impressive stature. She straightens up beside the car. Her expression is ice cold as she scans the area from behind dark shades. Platinum blonde hair is knotted high up on her head, extending to her lower back in a pinstripe straight ponytail. She wears a black vinyl catsuit that clings to her body and a silver mink stole around her shoulders, which would take most men's attention off the platinum handguns holstered at her hips. But not mine.

Satisfied - for  _ now _ \- Gizella links an arm with Lazarre and struts into the building with him like a runway model, tossing her skinny hips the way I'm sure the dirty bastard likes. The lieutenants, I don't mind, but Gizella... Let's just call her complication #2. 

"Commander Gunner!" Lazarre's lips widen into a sleazy grin as they approach the table. Cisco rises to offer him a handshake, but Lazarre protests, "What is this? We're like family here!" He circumvents the handshake for a hug. Cisco returns it awkwardly, patting the shorter man on the back as his eyes dart from side to side. He doesn't seem one for the touchy-feely stuff. I sympathize entirely.  

"I want you to know that I don't normally consort with... your  _ type, _ " Cisco tells him. 

"Type." Lazarre snorts. He motions for him to be seated as he plants his hands heavily on the armrests and lowers himself. Gizella folds away her shades, taking her place at his side like a stoic bodyguard. "We're all the same. My drug happens to be aether red. Yours is war."

Cisco's expression hardens. "Your type peddle empty escapism to the most vulnerable members of our society. You take advantage of them every time you tell them that it is easier to take the pill than the ups and downs, that mindless blood sport is more honorable than serving their country. That it is more expedient to pay for sex than invest in love. You keep them distracted and - yes - _happy_ , for a time _._ But everyone sobers up eventually. And what will they find when they do? You prey on good men... Good, _honest_ men, when they're at their lowest and convince them that it isn't worth it to get on their feet. To try again." I cast a sideways glance at the commander. "War is a harsh reality of our world. But at least it _is_ reality." He concludes his doctoral thesis. Someone give this man his Ph.D. in self-righteousness. 

Lazarre knows Cisco, we all do - a boy scout in a world too cynical for the likes of him. We've watched them come with bright eyes and big aspirations, pomade in their hair and loving notes from father tucked in breast pockets. And we watched them all go eventually, with uniforms as faded as their eyes hollowed out from having seen too much. 

So the don just grins. His gold fillings glint in the blue light. "Bread and circuses. War and peace. They'll eat you away all the same, boy."

He didn't like that, I can tell - being reminded of his youth in the presence of this old crime lord.

Cisco changes the subject, "I'm not here to lecture you. Your son, Eclipse, showed me some very compelling information about this new drug you've developed. Aether purple?"

"Mmm, we are all so very proud of him." Lazarre flashes me a glance. Well, at least I've made  _ a  _ father proud if not my own... I finger-gun at him and click my tongue, channeling my inner Eclipse. I'm a natural. Besides, the lighting is poor enough, and my clothes concealing enough, that he doesn't probe too deeply before returning his avaricious attention to the walking safe of military dollars across the table from him. Now all he needs to do is crack the code...

Cisco won't make it easy for him. He produces a tablet and printed charts from a laptop bag. "I would just like to discuss some of the details with you before I..." 

Lazarre glances at them like an inconvenience. "It can wait; what's the rush?" he says, "It's a beautiful evening. This is my restaurant, you're my guest, sit back and enjoy yourself!" 

"But I'm not here to-" 

"We have some truly incredible entertainment scheduled for tonight." Lazarre makes eye contact with a waiter and claps his hands twice. It must have been a signal because the waiter tugs a braided cord connected to the curtain. It drops in a flutter of black velvet. 

Cisco is distracted now. He inhales sharply; it gives me pause as well. Behind the curtain, situated in the center of the dining area, is a vast, spherical glass aquarium spanning nearly from the floor to the ceiling. A billowing red shape undulates within it. I see red, leathery skin and rounded suckers. Floor-mounted spotlights lance the aquarium with spears of ice blue. 

"What is that thing?" Cisco asks aloud. 

"A cecaelia. Quite a rare specimen too..." Lazarre puffs his chest. "She was fished from the waters off the black cliffs of Fade. We had her shipped here specially for this evening." Because they  _ can _ . He's peacocking for the commander, hoping to dazzle him with all the glitz, sleaze and drama of his world before easing him into signing a contract without reading too much into it. A classic mafia tactic: when it comes to them, all that glitters usually  _ is  _ gold, but only literally. 

The cecaelia darts within the orb, curious as she gazes upon the diners staring back at her. They gasp aloud as scarlet tentacles splay dramatically over the glass, revealing hundreds, maybe  _ thousands _ of suckers along the undersides. In the center of the squirming mass is a hard, black beak gnawing at the curved wall of her prison. The upper half of the cecaelia has the same wrinkled red skin of an octopus but appears strikingly humanoid. She possesses a torso, two arms and a feminine face. Hairless, with a pair of siphons expanding and contracting where a human would have ears. 

"Dear god..." Cisco murmurs, watching the she-creature with wide eyes. Lazarre's tactic seems to be working. 

"Your military headquarters is located in Fade, isn't it?" asks Lazarre. 

"That's right," he replies quietly.

"Have you ever seen a cecaelia before?" 

"I can't say that I have..." 

Neither have I. The cecaelia unnerves me. She looks so...  _ human.  _ She presses a palm covered in suckers to the glass. Mine is suddenly in the air, mirroring her. She searches my gaze, fascinated, with gelatinous, barred eyes. Then they widen. 

The cecaelia withdraws abruptly. I see why when a bright flash of light catches my attention.  _ Fire:  _ jets of it lick against the bottom of the globe. The spotlights switch from blue to red. My heart sinks while she swims. She surges to the top of the globe, flattening herself to it as flames chase her impotently over the curved glass walls. They found a way to smoke her out. The water is getting hotter. 

All around the restaurant, the diners make fascinated noises. A hundred eyes mirror fragments of fire back at the writhing cecaelia in the aquarium. In her eyes, the reflected light looks like terror. In theirs, it is  _ delight.  _ Bubbles begin to race to the surface. Her tentacles lash blindly, desperately at boiling water, and when she can't escape, she  _ screams  _ instead.

An awful caterwaul pours from her lungs in a language that means nothing in this alien dome far away from home. She claws at indifferent glass walls. Plumes of fire rush over the surface. Bubbles seethe beneath it. The jets spit furiously and the globe is enveloped in its entirety in a roiling sleeve of red-orange. It casts unbearable heat on my face as the air distorts all around it. 

When the flames die down, there is only silence. A motionless mass of tentacles floats near the top of the aquarium. A withered red arm protrudes from it.  _ Art _ . Is it suffering which makes art beautiful, or art which brings out the beauty in suffering? I have to look away.

"Outstanding!" Lazarre breaks the silence with applause. "They've really outdone themselves this time." Gizella's expression remains impassive. Cisco is speechless. 

The food arrives on smooth black plates. A sprig of microgreens. A drop of reduction taking full advantage of negative space. The centerpiece atop a bed of crushed ice: the very tip of an octopus tentacle cooked to gently flushed perfection. 

_ She was almost human -  _ but almost isn't close enough. I feel nauseated. I have to press a hand to my mouth and look away before a whimper escapes me. It does anyway.  _ Any minute now. Any minute now, it will end.  _

"Eclipse, are you alright?" My 'father' asks me. 

"I'm fine." I lie. Cisco is holding his fork as he stares forlornly down at his food. Then he sets it down on top of the forgotten printouts. 

"I'm ready to sign now," he says, sounding haggard. I  _ knew  _ it. He always intended to sign; he wasn't negotiating with us. He was negotiating with his conscience. And perhaps the spectacle of the cecaelia tore a hole in it. Lazarre's face lights up, then dims again when his phone vibrates. 

"It's my son. Mi scusi, I have to take this." Lazarre picks up. The voice on the other end sounds animated. I can feel his gaze burning into the side of my head and turn slowly to look. Lazarre's face turned grave. The corners of his lips dig deeply into the wrinkles on his face. I can't quite hear what the voice is saying, but I can guess now -  _ 'Ecleesi was captured in a police raid. THAT'S NOT HER.'  _

I present: complication #3.

Gizella catches on, narrowing her eyes at me as Lazarre hangs up slowly. "Your father -  _ Raijin _ \- he embraces me like a brother... Breaks bread in my home - then he thinks he can send his most feeble heir to dispatch me."

"What is going on here?" Cisco demands.

Ignoring him, Lazarre continues, "I want to kill you, Jurei, but the second it would take for me to do so would insult me." 

Gizella draws both of her pistols. She says frigidly, "Then allow me, my don. I will only take  _ half  _ a second." She's right about that. 

The sounds of shattering glass and growling engines interrupt our standoff, and then gunfire fills the air. Headlights filter through tattered curtains.

"Get down!" I don't know whether Cisco took my advice or not until I duck under the table and meet him there. 

"What the hell is going on?!" he demands. 

"Sorry, but at this point, you are no longer useful to me," I say breathlessly, "Great sex, though, keep it up." But before I can ditch him, his hand locks around my wrist. 

"You used me!" He snarls. "I should've known! I should've known I couldn't trust someone like you-"

"You're  _ no different  _ from us!" I can't help but erupt, cutting him off. "Actually - you  _ are _ . At least when someone takes that pill, he knows what he's getting into. At least when a fighter dies in the ring, someone cares; someone will remember him! At least they understand that a blowjob is 7 dollars - 5 on Fridays... But your soldiers know nothing. Do they know that you're here tonight? Do they know their commander was ready to sign away 5 of every hundred of them?" His eyes are wide. I hiss, "You are like us, but a hundred times more dangerous because you can wrap your sins in a flag and call it  _ freedom _ ." With that, I yank my wrist free of his limpening grasp and push through the tablecloth. 

Dead mafiosos. Lieutenants bleed out on the luxurious carpeting, silver rings bright through liquid red. The aquarium lies shattered into a million pieces glittering brightly on the soaked carpet while survivors peel, screaming, through the dining area. The unlucky ones dangle eerily from their seats. But there's no sign of Lazarre or Gizella. 

" _ Fuck! _ " I shout at no one. I sprint toward the exit, yelling into my earpiece. "You missed! You missed them!"

Keiichi's voice.  _ "We couldn't see a damn thing!"  _

"Ozymandias!" I shout next, "Have they made it to the car?" 

_ "They're not here yet,"  _ the lieutenant replies. 

"How is that possible? They can't have left through the front door!" 

_ "I'm telling you, they aren't here. Maybe you gave me the wrong plate."  _

"No..." My wildly darting gaze suddenly fixes itself on a pair of table napkins at a nearby table. They're... They don't  _ match -  _ how ridiculous is that? One is folded into a stunning fleur de lis that any serviette folder could be proud of, laid elegantly on a demitasse saucer. The other was tugged loose from its ring: now just a sad, shapeless mass of fabric strewn on the tablecloth. 

I pin it to the table and start folding frantically. Fold this corner, flip it and fold the other corner. These ends go toward the center. Set the crease with a decisive swipe of the thumb. It's like origami: the folds come together rapidly into the shape of a fleur de lis identical to the first. I pinch the folds in place with a silver napkin ring and lay my creation carefully next to its twin. My eyes switch between the two identical foldings. Finally, I say into the earpiece, "There's another car." 

I start sprinting. I know exactly where to go because I scoped out Delfino before I ever set foot in here. Naturally. "There's only one other way out of here: through the kitchens!" I tell the others. When I burst through the swinging doors, the chefs look startled but I'm not the one who interrupted their work. They were already gathered in a frightened cluster by the pantry: I'm just the latest development. I drop my gaze to puddles of blood on the floor drawing a dotted red line for me to follow. Finally, a victory! One or both of them is hurt - Lazarre and Gizella can't be moving fast. 

Sure enough, I catch up with them moving through the chrome corridors of cooking ranges and kitchen appliances. Lazarre leans heavily on his tall wife who has her eyes fixed on the prize: the exit.

"Don't move!" I point my Glock. Her neck twists sharply to look at me; deep blue eyes between the slats of a spatula hanging from a hook. Followed by the mouth of her pistol. I dive behind a counter while a bullet ricochets somewhere over my head. Back pressed to chrome, my heart pounds in my chest. I admit I did not have a contingency plan for what I was going to do when I found them... But now I need to come up with one,  _ fast _ .

"I need backup!"  I whisper urgently into the earpiece. Wait... What is this? My hand comes down on the smooth silver surface behind me. It's a kitchen range. 

Gizella vaults herself easily over the counter and cocks both handguns at me. I hold my hands up and say quickly, "Now before you do something we both regret..." She slips a glance to the stove and then notices the soft hissing noise. I disconnected the gas line. 

Mocha-painted lips arch into a stiff smile. "Clever boy." Gizella holsters the guns at her hips. "At least, you think you are. But you've only made this that much harder for yourself." She reaches to the counter and stretches out a terrifying length of plastic wrap. Gizella has me on the ground, screaming, at least until she traps the noise in my lungs with layers and layers of plastic wrapped tightly around my head. Her knee digs painfully into my chest while I claw at my face.  _ Can't breathe! I can't breathe!  _

I hear the door open. "Jurei-sama!" She abandons me. With moments to spare, I rip plastic wrap from my face and tear away the face mask to better suck in oxygen. Kenta and Gizella circle each other carefully. Here's a worthy opponent. Undaunted, Gizella swoops in, firing kicks and punches at the big hitman. He brings his arms up in defense and says to her, "Gizella, be reasonable." His voice doesn't give away the slightest suggestion of pain.

" _ Vaffanculo! _ " She spits, winding around to kick over a bubbling stockpot. Boiling hot liquid spills over Kenta's shoes and trousers; the fabric of his pants steams as he jerks away. The kitchen exit swings open at that moment. 

Ozymandias is in the doorway, calling, "Jurei, I-" His eyes widen at the mess he just stumbled into. "Shit." Because he would rather keep his hands clean. He might have the strength of a hitman now, but he still thinks like middle management. 

His arrival distracted Gizella just long enough for Kenta to deliver a retaliatory throat punch. She falls back into Ozymandias' unwilling arms; he doesn't have a choice now but to lock down around her, pinning her arms to her sides. She strikes him with the back of her head and drives her elbow into his side while the taller man reels. 

"Get your hands off me!" 

"I... Don't want to hurt you!" Oz struggles to keep a grip on her. Does she realize he is struggling even harder  _ not  _ to hurt her? The sharp point of her stiletto pierces his foot; he contracts on her instinctively. I hear the awful, brittle sound of bones cracking and Gizella crying out in agony. Oz lets go, startled. 

Gizella breathes hard as she stumbles forward on her high heels, ponytail swinging from side to side. She rolls an ankle as she goes, letting out a soft whimper. She can't even fight in those ridiculous things, never mind that she's gravely outnumbered. Two superhumans and one genius. 

But she still won't back down. Instead, she unbuckles the holster around her waist and uses it to lash her broken arm securely to her torso. She grips the end of the belt with teeth set in a snarl, wincing as she pulls it taut, then sets the buckle. Gizella then lifts a chef's knife from the counter and brandishes it threateningly. 

"Woman, are you crazy?" Oz wonders aloud, 

A brown lip tugs over her canine. "Bitch, I might be." 

She charges in like a madwoman, anyway. Connections groan and snap as Kenta lifts a heavy duty, double-door refrigerator and hurls it in her direction. She slides easily underneath it. Oz is slower to react: his eyes widen, he dives out of the way moments before the fridge smashes into the opposite wall. He looks at it in horror, then at Kenta. 

"You're... You're just like me." I don't think Kenta heard him as he backpedals from Gizella's wildly swinging blade. She only has one arm - but makes up for it with speed. Brutal slashes take shape over Kenta's forearms held up in defense. His sleeves are soaked in seconds.

"Gizella,  _ please _ ." He holds up his hands as he tries to talk sense into her.  

Letting out a grunt of effort, she draws a furious gash across his palms, then switches tactics as she twists onto the counter. She has Kenta all turned around as she leaps from counter to counter - she spots an opening, latches onto his back with her legs and raises the knife. Gizella stabs Kenta in the back over and over again, shredding his suit into ribbons, hacking his flesh into mincemeat. Blood spatters the chrome kitchen surfaces and the black vinyl of her jumpsuit, reminding me that superhuman strength does not necessarily translate into invincibility.

Kenta backs into the wall to dislodge her, only succeeding on the second try. Platform stiletto heels clop against the tile as she drops low, then rolls out between his legs. He reacts a little faster this time and seizes the end of her ponytail in a fist.

Gizella twists around; her ponytail wraps tightly around his knuckles like a noose pulling him in range of a vicious backheel across the face. Dark purple blossoms over Kenta's cheek. His eyes are starting to wander, punch-drunk. 

I pull open the silver oven.

"Here! In here!" With the last of his strength, Kenta tightens his grip on her ponytail and hurls the frenzied woman headfirst into the oven. I slam the door closed as far as it will go around a slim waist. Grabbing the gas line, I toss it in with her then press my back to the door to hold it shut. 

"I could use a little help here!" I gasp. Kenta joins me and Oz adds his strength to the effort for good measure - all three of us lurch with every violent struggle she makes.

"How is this helping?!" Oz demands. 

"Monoxide poisoning!" I reply. Gizella's legs kick wildly at the air; her furious screams rebound from the walls of the oven. 

"It seems as though we could have come up with a more efficient way of doing this," says Kenta. 

"Oh, suddenly  _ everyone's  _ an expert on efficiency..." I growl. Gizella's arm shoots through the gap like a zombie emerging from the grave. She gropes at the range - I don't know what for - until she latches onto the burner dial. My eyes widen. 

" _ Run! _ " 

"For Cosa Nostra!" She twists it hard.

 

###

 

The fire  _ burned. _ I could feel them so intensely: tongues of fire rasping skin from my frame while the medium underneath bubbled as if trying to escape through my pores. Damon gloated over my naked, shivering form pinned to the counter, "You are never going to cheat on me again.  _ Ever. _ " Whether any cheating had actually taken place was irrelevant. He was just looking for reasons to hurt me. For _ ways  _ to hurt me. He was the planning type. He  _ thinks things through _ . He choreographed every moment of my agony. 

But this skit wasn't playing out the way he'd intended. When Damon turned to admire his handiwork, the smile on his face faded. My skin wasn't cooking like a piece of meat - it was  _ melting  _ like rubber. Falling away in sticky, stretchy ropes from a smooth silver-grey shape underneath. 

"Holy shi-" He let go of me as if he had touched a hot stove. Which was ironic. Damon staggered backward until his back hit a counter. "What is that?" he demanded.

"D-Damon-!" I said in a quaking voice. I snatched my hand back as if I could hide the metal and silicone. But even I couldn't gaslight, misdirect or explain away something like  _ that. _ For once, I picked the truth. I raised my hand to show it to him so he could see the smooth silver underneath: the way the plates of my frame fit together. "Don't be afraid... It's just me," I clenched my hand and released to show him how smoothly the robotic joints worked. I was almost human. "I'm just like  _ you, _ " I insisted.

But he only saw the other half. "Yeah, and my uncle's an electric toothbrush!" he cried as he grabbed for his gun. "What are you?! What the hell  _ are you?! _ " 

 

###

 

Facedown on white tiles where I fell, I stir slowly. The cold tiles reflect the light of the fire Gizella started and reminds me -  _ pain -  _  my hand was burned. Hissing between gritted teeth, I clutch it to my chest, catching a glimpse of silver. Degloved again. Why not? I glance around quickly and find a white kitchen towel to wrap my secret with before joining Kenta and Ozymandias in front of the oven. Everything flammable is on fire, creating a rather impressive funeral pyre for the mafia wife. The lower half of Gizella's body sticks out morbidly from the mouth of the charred oven. A warrior to the end. Although I do not envy the dish boy who has to clean up the aftermath. 

"Sylvia Plath would be proud," Oz comments.

"Sylvia Plath committed  _ suicide _ ," I remind him.

"Who is Sylvia Plath?" Kenta wonders aloud.

Ozymandias notices the towel wrapped around my hand. "Are you hurt?"

I close my other hand over it. "It's nothing." That's when I remember- "Lazarre-" I whip around just in time to see the don staggering toward the exit. He casts me a glance over his shoulder before vanishing through the door. "He's getting away!" I break into a sprint. 

Outside, reinforcements have arrived. I see a familiar flash of gold before the car door closes over it. Lazarre is in the car currently tearing down the street. I slow to a stop on the sidewalk, panting softly as I watch it shrink. I sense Oz's presence beside me. 

"Did you make the switch?"

"Just in time." 

Meanwhile, the car has faded into a black dot in the distance. A dot which suddenly expands into a brilliant splash of orange and red over the grey city canvas. The explosion rocks the street. I hear screaming as flames roil over the pavement. I touch my earpiece.

"Do we have a confirmation?" 

_ "Affirmative."  _ And let it go.

"Arrivederci," I mutter under my breath. 

A yakuza car pulls up by the curb. "Get out of here, both of you." I command Kenta and Ozymandias. They don't need to be told twice, vanishing into the backstreets while I bend to the passenger side window. Tinted glass rolls down to reveal Keiichi's face. 

"Get in," he says.

"Get out," I reply.

"Excuse me?" 

"Massimo will be here soon... And he has to find me.  _ Only  _ me." 

"Jurei, you're not making sense-" 

"I did it," I cut him off abruptly. "I ended the reign of Don Lazarre D'Oro. Now make way for the prince." Keiichi falls silent. He steps out of the car, unfolding to a height taller than me, from where his gaze can burn into the top of my head.

I ask him, "Did you bring what I asked?"

"I did." A pause. "I looked."

"You weren't supposed to."

"What are you going to do with that, Jurei?" 

"Earn my tattoos."

"You were granted them. Now you've earned them. What more do you want?" 

"Let's just say I'm on a hat trick."

He grabs my wrist. "Jurei, it's too dangerous! You're in too deep!" 

Not deep enough. I want  _ more. _ I want it all. And I won't stop, because I know I can  _ get it.  _ He disturbed the towel around my hand, moving it just enough to reveal a sliver of silver. "Your hand..." I snatch it back. 

"I've had it worse." I meet his dark gaze. "But you know that." Leaving him speechless  as I get into the backseat and tell the driver, "Drive." The yakuza driver takes off down the street. 

It isn't long before I see him in the rearview mirror. I thought Damon could be demonic, but I've never seen Massimo look the way he does right now. His eyes gleam brighter than the motorcycle headlights as the gold of his highlights rake his brown hair. A leather rider's jacket whips in the wind. He holds a phone to his ear and right on cue, my phone vibrates.

_ "What did you do?"  _ His voice is cold. 

"Massimo, let me explain." 

_ "WHAT DID YOU DO?!  _ Oh, Jurei..." he moans. "Now look what  _ I _ have to do." He tosses the phone over his shoulder to shatter on the pavement and trades it for a rifle. You know, I'm starting to think he doesn't want to talk to me. 

I shrink into my seat as gunfire ricochets from the armored surface of the yakuza car. Over my head, I can see bullets burying themselves in the bulletproof glass of the rear window. Cracks feather the tinted surface, steadily growing larger. The driver switches to evasive maneuvers, leading Massimo on a wild goose chase through the city. I gather the nerve to peek behind us as we peel around a corner. Massimo hits the turn too hard, almost spinning out of control, but rights the vehicle just in time. I need to talk to him, but this getaway driver is actually, well,  _ getting away. _

"You are extremely good at your job," I tell the driver. 

"Thank you, Jurei-san," he replies. 

"So if you think about it, what I'm about to do is really a compliment." 

"What do you me-" He doesn't get to finish that question when I shoot him in the back of the head. The driver's forehead slams against the wildly spinning steering wheel. Through the blood on the windshield, I see rapidly approaching concrete and brace for it. 

_ Reboot, reboot, reboot... _ When I return to my senses, my vision is a kaleidoscope of broken glass, blood and smoke, all tilted slightly to one side. The engine is totaled and the driver's corpse hangs on his seatbelt. I'm in far better shape: the collision hurled me against the seat in front of me, but I seem to have escaped serious injury. Groaning, I kick open the door and climb out. 

"Come on, come on..." I will the trunk to cooperate. It pops open - relief of reliefs - and I grab the poster tube which lies inside, slinging it over my torso. Headlights find me moments before I disappear into a network of alleys too narrow for vehicles to navigate. 

I hear voices. Shadows chase me through the labyrinth. Breaths come hard and fast as I tighten my grip on the strap.  _ I need to find Massimo _ . If his men find me first, they will kill me. A cold raindrop hits my cheek, momentarily diluting my thoughts.  _ Not this. Not now!  _ I guess it's true what they say: when it rains, it pours. 

My shoes splash through puddles as I sprint down an alley. Purple hair torn loose from its pins bounces along behind me. Dark shapes turn the corner. Eyes wide, I spin around - only to find more closing in on the other side. The mafiosos converge to trap me flat against the wall. I look frantically between angry faces. 

"You're going to pay for what you did, Akira..." One of them snarls. 

Another adds, "Your whole family is going to pay!"

"No!" A tiny cry escapes me; I grab for the poster tube which they rip away from me. It lands in a puddle and rolls a short distance away. Then I gasp softly when one of them grabs me by the jaw.

"You should worry about yourself, filthy yakuza." 

My eyes dart immediately to the pocket knife one of them brings into my field of vision. 

"Pull his pants down." The mafioso with the knife suggests. "Let's give it to the faggot the way he likes it..." Cruel laughter follows his statement. 

"L-Let go of me!" I struggle while they fumble with my pants. "Mafia  _ dogs! _ " I shriek.

"Let him go." The underlings release me abruptly; I slump against the wall, gasping for air. At the mouth of the alley, Massimo stands with soaked clothes clinging to his muscular body. Brown hair slicked down with rain. "Go. I'll deal with him myself." 

"But, Boss-" 

"I said,  _ go! _ " Like a lion, his roar chases them from our kingdom. 

Then there were two. The two of  _ us _ , the way it's meant to be... I straighten up as he walks this way, slow. 

"M-Max," I stammer, "I did this for you-"

" _ Sta' zitto! _ " The force and volume of his voice stun me. His fist closes around my collar and then he's shaking me violently. "You killed my father! And  _ sold _ my sister! You-!  _ You! _ " Then I see his hand raised into the air. 

"Max!" But that doesn't stop it from coming down sharply across my face. It knocks a gasp from my lungs. 

"Puttana!" he curses at me. Then it returns for a backhanded strike. "Pompinaro!" Forehand again. " _ Filth! _ " My knees are weak; tears course down my cheeks, lost in the rain. 

"Let me explain!" I wail, clinging to his wrists. 

"Don't talk to me! Don't you dare talk to me with that lying tongue..." A length of golden chain emerges from his sleeve. He turns me around as the chain winds the other way and pulls tight on my neck. A choked noise escapes my tightening throat while I hang onto the chain for dear life. He's...  _ He's really going to kill me.  _ "Because if you speak... Then I won't be able to go through with this." His voice cracks. "And if I don't, then what kind of don am I? What kind of  _ son _ am I?" A ragged sob; I feel the chain loosen. Then it releases altogether, to hang in his grip as he lays his face against an arm propped against the wall. "You've ruined  _ everything _ . I could have worked from the inside - I was going to broker peace, but you were so  _ hasty! _ "

I dive for the poster tube, dragging it toward myself. 

"Tell me it isn't true," Massimo says in a hoarse voice. He turns to face me. "Tell me you didn't kill my father. Just say it was someone else... You were following orders. You were just a pawn... Say  _ anything. _ " 

It's implied -  _ Even if it isn't true. _

But I am no one's pawn. I slowly get to my feet again. Turn to face him. "I killed Don Lazarre D'Oro."  

"Son of a bitch-" He pulls his golden revolver on me. In response, I unscrew the lid of the poster tube and extend, with a shaking hand, a sheet of paper from inside. "What is this?" I don't answer right away, letting him snatch it from me. His eyes widen as they scan the document. 

"A paternity test," I say quietly, "Lazarre's." 

"But this... Is negative." He looks up at me with round eyes. 

"I did kill Don Lazarre D'Oro," I repeat, "But he was not your father."

"No..." He shakes his head. " _ No... _ What are you saying?"

"You were the product of Alcine's dishonorable... Disgraceful...  _ Filthy  _ affair with a nobody." Massimo looks horrified. I smile at him ironically. "What's the matter? You got your wish: you're just a regular guy after all.  _ Max _ ." 

The document falls into a puddle where rain dissociates it into fibrous clumps. 

"Unless," I simper at him. "You really  _ do  _ want to be the don." He meets my eyes, dumbfounded. "I did it for you. I destroyed anyone who could have taken this from you: Lazarre and his true heir.  _ Ecleesi _ ..." I run a hand along his jawline while he shudders slightly. "All so you could be king. For you, I will make all of this disappear. For you, I will do anything... As your loyal  _ queen _ ." 

_ 'We will bring cosa nostra to its knees...' _

The newborn don topples. His knees land heavily on wet pavement. He lowers his head and raises both hands in the same movement, opening the velvet box that is his offering at my altar. A diamond glints within it: billions of years and hundreds of billions of events crystallized into this very moment. I revel in the light before I offer up a hand. His huge paws fumble with my delicate hand, shaking through this bondage ritual as he slips the ring into place. 

"M-Marry me, Jurei." 

"I accept." 

_ 'And then behead it.' _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told ya someone would get cooked!


	12. The Perfect Ending

Burning incense fills the air with the heady aroma of jasmine. The smoke seems to slip into my head through an ear and twist itself into exquisite knots for my entertainment. With my eyes closed, I can feel with greater intensity Sora's small, thin hands lowering my yukata from my shoulders to reveal bare skin. Coincidentally, I can also feel how little I care for them.

Only when the garment has fallen away do I open my eyes again and drink it all in. In many ways, this scene is exactly what I had imagined: the entire clan seated around the table, all eyes on _me,_ as they should be. Over the long stretch of the heavy wooden table, my father is seated at the opposite end, flanked by the colorful palette of his wives on folded knees. My mother meets my eyes over the edge of the fan held to her face. A smile causes them to crinkle. That decorative paper is the thinnest of barriers over her true excitement.

In just as many ways, it's completely different. The room is strangely silent and there is no food and drink this time. The atmosphere is heavy. _Nervous_. I trace their apprehension to the engagement ring bright on my finger.

I hear the soft clink of Sora stirring dye in shallow dishes as the irezumi master, Hiroshi takes his position behind me. His presence feels glacial as if he'd rather be anywhere but here, which may not be a very desirable quality in a tattoo artist, but I know it will have no bearing on the caliber of his work. The irezumi is his religion and legacy on living flesh - he would never betray those things no matter what he thinks of me.

Father suddenly seems to remember he needs to say something. "We gather here today to celebrate my third son, Jurei as he receives his tattoos and joins his elders in the pantheon of our clan. He has earned this honor by dealing the final blow against the mafia - by felling a great foe and in doing so, saving the Akiras. Let it be known that Jurei is a slayer of the clan's enemies and an ender of dynasties. I can think of no one more deserving of his irezumi. Hiroshi-san, let's begin."

On cue, the artist lifts his brush.

The door to the meeting room slams open.

"Where is he?" Keiichi demands.

"Now look who's late to an irezumi ceremony," I muse.

"You..." The other clan members follow Keiichi with their eyes as he stalks across the room toward me. "You _fool!_ A union with Massimo D'Oro, have you _lost your mind?!_ "

I say coolly in the face of his fury, "I paid my dues to you: victory against the mafia. The death of Don Lazarre. Now it's time you paid yours.

"I said you could have your tattoos!" Keiichi spits, " _He_ wasn't part of the deal..."

A small sigh whistles between my lips. "And what are you planning to do to stop me?"

Keiichi reaches into his robe in response. I draw myself up straight - as straight as the shiny silver blade he draws from the folds, eliciting gasps from all around the room.

"You leave me no choice."

 

I hit the dirt floor hard and skid forward, immediately recognizing the pale, yellowish-brown dirt underneath me as the floor of the courtyard. The autumn air that dips into the open courtyard makes me shrink into a smaller, paler ball of bones, but it ruffles Keiichi's navy blue hair and robe, opening his stance until he has all the bearings of a shogun at the helm of an army. He wears his robe off the shoulders to reveal a strong, barrel chest and the intricate tangerine and deep green tattoos that mark him front and back. His tigers roar a challenge at my own blank, lily-white skin suit.

The gathering from the irezumi ceremony followed us outside, thronging at the sidelines.

"What are you doing? What is the meaning of this?!" Mother bursts through the demure filter of her fan. She starts forward but a thick, moon-white arm links around her own, effortlessly holding her in place. Okina. "Let go of me!" Mother demands to no avail.

"It's not your place to interfere," the older woman reminds her.

Keiichi points his katana at me and accuses, " _Traitor!_ "

I raise an eyebrow. "Interesting. Do you say that to everyone who assassinates the don for you?"

"Only when they hook up with the next one," he growls. "What bothers me is that you are a smart man, Jurei. You know cosa nostra is on its last leg."

"No matter how many dogs you put down, there will always be another waiting in the wings, prepared to lead the pack," I say calmly, "You should be supporting this union as a path to lasting peace."

"This is just a sick fantasy of yours - you want it both ways and in your attempt to bridge the gap, you will allow us to fall through it. Jurei, as your brother, I am _begging you_ to reconsider."

Long sections of purple hair drift on the cold air, snagging annoyingly on my arms and torso. I draw my hands through it, collecting it at the back of my head before piercing it into three with my fingers and beginning to weave. I move like an assembly line down the length of my hair, leaving a perfectly manufactured braid in my wake - it's algorithmic. Keiichi watches the whole process, grim. When the braid is finished, I catch the end and coil the length into a tight bun, securing it in place with a hair tie.

Even more members of the clan and employees throng at the balconies now as well. The last time it was this packed, we had invited that trashy pop singer to perform for Michio's birthday. We were cleaning panties off the floor for weeks after.

It's far less lively this time. No one dares move or do so much as draw a breath. Finally raising my gaze to meet Keiichi's, I deliver my response: "I will not."

Lips lift in a snarl. "Then, Jurei Akira, I challenge your eligibility for your tattoos." He thrusts the point of his sword through the air. "And your place in this clan!" Astonished gasps and murmuring fill the air. I wish I could say I was just as surprised as them.

"Jurei, take this!" Mother tosses me one of her katanas. I catch it out of the air and draw a coldly precise length of steel. Engraved spider lilies dance death along the sides.

"I accept your challenge," I say. I see it in Keiichi's eyes before his muscles make a single move: the _pounce._

I have watched my mother compete for her dignity, what feels like a hundred times in this arena, but I'm immediately aware that this is different. This isn't softcore porn masquerading under the thin veil of a technique demonstration. When Keiichi lunges, he goes for the _kill_ . His blade meets mine and the sound it makes rattles my skull - the impact shakes my frame. I know straight away that I won't best him in a test of brute force and so does he. I see the intentions in his eyes when he draws back to strike again. The blade comes down in precise, swinging chops while mine rises to deflect it, that precious distance shortening each time. I am wheeling back, searching his form for compromised form to exploit, because his technique is _flawless_.  

Yosuke pushes his way to the front of the gathering. "Keiichi!" he explodes, "What do you think you're _doing?!_ "

"What none of you have been willing to do!" he grunts between blows.  

Yosuke shakes his head in disbelief. "Think about what you're doing! Jurei is our brother!"

Keiichi feints overhead and then the blade swings in horizontally, striking the weapon from my grip.

"Jurei!" My mother shrieks.

"That's a lie. Our brother... is _dead._ " I feel pain - tearing flesh - but it tears more like a film, strangely elastic, stretching just slightly on the sharp point of his blade before ripping. Keiichi sliced a gaping wound diagonally across my chest, from pelvic bone to opposite collarbone. If I had those. Instead, he's torn open a window to my soul: to the smooth metal plates and framework beneath my fake skin.

I'm stepping back; bringing my fingers to the ragged edges of my wound. Keiichi pauses, wearing an expression full of horror as he stares into my open chest cavity. It's as if he's never seen it before.

"Jurei! Jurei, run!" My mother's wailing forms the background score. _My sword_ \- I spin around to run for it but another blow lands across my back - the twin of the cut across my chest - drawing a gasp from my throat.

"He's dead!" Keiichi's voice batters my skull. Crawling for the sword, heart pounding in my chest. _I'm so close._

But I have to abandon it to roll out of the way when Keiichi plunges the katana into the dirt. Flipping over, I trace the contours of a muscular calf to the flowing fabric of his robe, across the rigid expanse of a trained abdomen to the resolute expression on his face, blue hair fluttering in the wind like the crest of a noble family. The silhouette towering over me elongates as he raises the sword high over his head.

"Jurei is _gone_ and none of you will admit it!" I propel through the balls of my feet and raise both arms in defense. The blade sinks easily through skin and lodges into metal, forcing me back down on my knees.

Straining to hold the gap open, I gasp out, "I am still here! I'm right here, just look at me, Keiichi!" He is staring morbidly at the blade stuck in my forearms. "Look in my _eyes!_ " He does. "I'm right here."

"Jurei... My _brother_ would never put some meaningless fling before his clan! Before his _family._ " He tears the blade out; the dusty ground rises to meet my side. I struggle to get up on structurally weakened arms.

"He's not a fling," I plead my case. "I _love_ him." Fingers dig into my hair, ripping it loose from careful twists as Keiichi drags me along. I kick up small clouds of dust, and as I twist my neck around, I behold my fate in the vast, golden disc of the gong. The shiny, mottled surface reflects Keiichi's resolute expression, my own pale limbs flailing and wide eyes in rings of brilliant gold.

"You don't love him..." Keiichi gathers my head in one powerful paw. He swings me into the gong; my head explodes in pain and fills with sound. "You don't love _anyone_." And again. This time when he draws back, I see my own broken and bloodied face in the reflection before the metal rapidly approaches again.

"You _can't_ love anyone."

"Your feelings aren't real."

"Because you."

"Are not."

" _Real._ "

The repeated clashing of the gong rings out over the courtyard, drowning out even my mother's wailing. It seems to shake the very pillars the balconies stand on; the vibrations resonate with my metal parts, threatening to shatter me from the inside out.

Finally, Keiichi peels me from the gong and hurls me to my knees where I settle on my heels, swaying weakly. Messy wisps of purple snatch at the corners of my vision, torn loose in the scuffle. Warm trails of blood - fake as it is - roll over my face.

"My son! My _son!_ " Mother is hyperventilating, snatching at air. Okina digs her nails in but even that doesn't hold her. Mother frees herself at last, but she only slips from one restraining grip to another: Father's.

"Mirai." It isn't his strength, but the sound of his voice which drops the warrior to her knees, defeated. Kaa-san hangs limp in her husband's grip, shaking as she sobs quietly at the dirt.

"Keiichi, you don't have to do this," Yosuke begs.

"I wanted to believe that we had saved him just as badly as you." I'm aware of Keiichi lifting the katana level with my neck for the execution. Dim light filtered through clouds give it a flat, frigid sheen. "But Jurei died that night. When we tried to save him, all we did was replace him with a parody of the man he used to be. A dishonorable caricature made of metal and wires." Keiichi sounds cold when he says, "We laughed with him. Cried with him. Loved him. But this android can do none of those things."

Yosuke looks troubled but he doesn't argue, perhaps because deep down, he agrees with Keiichi.

"I'm finishing this," says Keiichi. I bow my head, which makes him snort slightly. "At least you can face your death with dignity, robot."

But I'm only staring at the phone I hold in my lap. "Android, actually." I push a button.

The projector turns on, hurling a video screen over the dusty ground like a carpet. It's a projector we use for movie night: the big screen stretched over the courtyard so we can watch from the balconies. Keiichi is stunned to see that the subject of today's film is himself.

"What is this?" he asks - high-pitched - as the beginnings of the scene play out. I don't answer because he's about to see for himself.

 

Keiichi storms into his bedroom, shouting, _"I told you not to! I told you it was a bad idea and you still went and-!"_ He stops to groan into a hand held to his face. _"And so close to the Wednesday shipment. I told you: we can't afford to botch a delivery of that size."_

Kenta follows him in. _"My apologies; I knew how much it meant to you. I acted out of turn. I was completely out of line,"_ he grovels, _"I will accept any punishment you deem necessary, Keiichi-sama."_

 _"Punishm-"_ Keiichi sighs; his hand slides over his face until he's looking over the edge of his fingers. Regretful. _"You... Don't need to call me that,"_ he says.

 _"If I didn't,"_ Kenta breathes, _"I would forget my place."_

My brother turns around to stare at him. Silence prevails between them. _"Then forget it,"_

Suddenly, Kenta unloads like a spring that was strained for too long, wrapping powerful arms around Keiichi. Their lips meet in a ravenous tangle and, although Kenta is much taller and stronger, he yields to every one of Keiichi's whims, while being careful not to express any of his own.

 

The audience watching heaves; there's an uproar brewing in the stands as Keiichi stands frozen in the courtyard, watching the scene play out like a horror movie. He watches Kenta carry a past version of himself to the plush bed and toss him to the sheets before climbing on top, layering sweet kisses over his face, neck and chest before going lower, all the while my brother strokes his hair like an obedient pet. Kenta dips where Keiichi can't reach him, so he grabs hold of the sheets in anticipation instead. Legs open gently as the bodyguard plants kisses along the insides, slowing down the higher he gets.

 

I turn to Keiichi in the courtyard and say coldly, "Since I don't have real feelings, perhaps I have misunderstood: in your own words, what exactly is happening here?" Keiichi stares at me, wide-eyed.

Meanwhile, the two in the video are locked in each other arms. My brother calls out his lover's name with every thrust. _"Kenta! Kenta!"_ Desperate, raw, filthy sounds as the larger man moves rhythmically on top of him.

Stop this!" Keiichi cries out, desperate.

"You were the traitor all along!" I spit, "This... This boy toy masquerading as a _bodyguard_ of yours has had unfettered access to the Akira family's secrets for years, had relationships with our highest-ranking officials, and no one questioned him because he was your trusted operative... But _Kenta-_ " I point an accusing finger at his bodyguard in the video feed. "Is a mafia operative who reports directly to Eclipse." It was obvious. So obvious as soon as I witnessed Ozymandias' superhuman performance in that wrestling ring... And mapped it to Kenta's own supernatural strength. A supersoldier created with aether purple.

"That's impossible." Keiichi is backing away while I rise.

"Oh is it?" I wonder aloud. "Then who else did you tell about the ambush on the aether routes? And the shipment which led to Eclipse's capture?" Realization dawns on his face; my brother closes a hand over his mouth.

 

 _"I like it."_ Bug eyes flit to the video where Kenta is brushing his fingers through Keiichi's blue hair. There's a real smile on the bodyguard's face.

 _"Please don't."_ Keiichi puts a hand on Kenta's chest. The smile fades as fast as it came on.

 _"I can't do this anymore."_ The two lovers in the video come down from the high of their illicit affair, crashing down to the bed they're shackled to - because the second they leave it, they could no longer exist together.

 _"Kenta, we've spoken about this,"_ says Keiichi, hushed.

 _"I know... I know, but please -"_ There is more emotion than I've ever seen on Kenta's face as he pleads with my brother. _"I want to be out in the open with you. I want to BE with you."_ And Keiichi stares, stunned. He wants the same thing - he has the eyes of a desperate lover, pleading for another minute, another _second_.

 _"You know we can't."_ But he has the words of a yakuza heir.

Kenta chases him with an exclamation as my brother lifts himself from the bed. _"Keiichi!"_ The robe fits securely around his chest with just a few quick tugs.

_"I think you should go,"_

He uses them so little that it takes Kenta a while to remember how to repack the pieces of his expression: to file them neatly away in the cabinet of his mind, a little deeper, a little more securely each time. The drone footage continues long after Kenta has quietly left the room, letting it slide politely shut behind him. It catches the way Keiichi half-turns as if to call out. But he doesn't.

My brother stares at the courtyard floor in mortified silence. He's buying time before he has to face all the eyes on him. The accusing eyes quickly draining themselves of any respect they may have once held. _Dishonor._

"Keiichi." Father watching from the sidelines, his face like a funeral pyre. "Explain yourself."

Keiichi opens his mouth only to clamp it quickly shut and flee the scene.

 

Although I gave chase, it's much later when I find him kneeling before the koi pond. Approaching him from behind, I see the tigers on his back growling a warning at me to stay away. He hangs his head to watch koi twist through the water like gentle strokes of paint in an aquatic masterpiece.

"Keiichi, I'm sorry it had to happen that way," I begin, slowing down. "But now you must see; you and I are the same... We deserve to be happy." Keiichi doesn't respond. I urge him, reaching for his shoulder. " _Kenta_ deserves to be happy." As soon as my hand lands on his shoulder, Keiichi falls away from it, landing heavily on his side. My eyes widen. A pool of red is extending underneath him.

Stepping around, I clap a hand over my mouth when I see it: Keiichi's abdomen slashed open from side to side like a dumpling case, the lumpy soup of its contents oozing into the grass.

" _Keiichi!_ " A scream sieves between my fingers, then I pry them apart and scream again to get attention: to get someone, anyone! What will I tell them? _A murder? An assassination!_ That's when I notice the bloody knife lying in his limp grip and the realization sinks like a weight in my stomach. "What have you done?!" I demand, falling to my knees. "You _fool!_ " Jostling his unresponsive body. "What have you done?" Tears run down my face. "What have you _done?_ "

 

###

 

"How do you feel?" Mother's voice. She gently adjusts the golden bow tie perched at my throat. She wears a kimono embroidered with wisteria for the occasion, paired with an expensive pair of purple silk pumps.

"This is the greatest day of my life," I monotone at the dressing mirror. A pure white tuxedo. My purple hair is woven into an intricate updo. Not one hair out of place. Not one mark or so much as a crease on my expressionless face: a fresh start, as if a new page was turned over the old.

Kaa-san's hands cup my face; I look into her heavy grey eyes as they well up with emotional tears. "I am so proud... and so _happy_. You deserve to have everything you want... But I am going to miss you so much..."

"I'm not going anywhere, Kaa-san." I hold her hand and rub it with a thumb.

"Your father... Might make it difficult for you to return."

"It's a good thing I don't answer to him." I brush a lock of violet hair out of her face. "I'm half D'Oro now."

"You were always such a clever boy." Mother holds my hands together before me and lays her forehead on them as if praying. I can feel my knuckles warm with her good intentions. I think I hear her breathe, "Too clever." _Is that why you couldn't let me go?_ She lifts her head again when we both hear my phone buzzing in my pocket.

"I have to take this," I say as I fish it out.

Yosuke's face fills the screen, too close, before he backs away from the camera, grinning wide.

 _"Otouto-chan!"_ he exclaims, _"Uwa - Kawaiiiii!"_ Yosuke looks me up and down, eyes bright.

"Oh stop," I chuckle softly.

_"You look amazing. I wish I could be there."_

"How is she doing?"

He brightens up at the reminder. _"Well! She's doing well; why don't you ask her yourself?"_

"That won't be-" The rest of my protest comes out as a sigh; I know it's pointless to try and stop the runaway freight train that is Yosuke's good mood.

Cherise's eyes widen as the phone turns in her direction. She glances away quickly but accepts the phone. Cherise looks like a different person in the hospital bed. She seems strangely small with all the layers of glamor stripped away: her big, blonde diva hair, puffy fur coats and thick makeup. My gaze softens as I trace the simple fishtail braid over her shoulder interrupting the dot pattern of the hospital gown.

"Boy or a girl?" I ask.

 _"A boy,"_ she says.

"How far along?"

 _"Just a few months now."_ Which would mean their affair had to have started at least - _no_ \- I reel myself back in; we do not need this. Not today.

So I say instead, "You look radiant." She looks at me in surprise. "Congratulations."

_"Thank you, Jurei."_

Yosuke fits himself into the frame, managing to bare almost every tooth in his mouth.

 _"We're going to be parents!"_ he exclaims. Even Cherise can't help but catch her new husband's infectious enthusiasm. _"And you're going to be married! I wish he could see this..."_ Yosuke's mood swings wildly to the opposite extreme, smile fading as his lips quiver slightly. He's staring over the top of the phone into the distance. _"If Keiichi was here... If he could just see how happy everyone is-"_ Something gnaws at my chest.

 _"Yosuke."_ Cherise takes his hand. He drops his head, still for a few moments, then lifts it again.

 _"I know."_ He offers her a weak smile and squeezes back. Then he turns to me. _"So have you decided? Mr. D'Akira? Jurei Akoro?_ _Or do you prefer to hyphenate?"_

"Actually, I am going to take his name."

 _"Oh."_ A brief silence. _"Jurei, as long as I have a say in it, you will always be welcome back to the Akira clan. I love you... And good luck."_

"I love you too." But I took luck out of the equation a long time ago.

The phone beeps softly as I hang up. I turn to the sound of the door to the dressing room creaking open.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything." My grandfather wheels himself in.

"Not at all. I'll see you both at the ceremony." Mother excuses herself with a short bow. Her purple heels clack against the floor as she slips through the door to give us some privacy.

"Jiji..." I crouch beside the wheelchair, so he can run a wrinkled hand along my cheek.

"You've caused quite a stir." He chuckles. "It's a miracle your father agreed to show up at all."

"Gomen-nasai..." I murmur.

"Don't apologize. Follow your heart _fearlessly_ and never apologize for it... That is something I wish I had learned a long time ago." The regret on his face lingers only a moment before he reaches into his suit. "I want to give you something." Bright cherry red emerges from the folds: Jiji hands me a toy train engine with a round face and a chimney. I run a finger over the edge of the pointed shovel nose. The small plastic toy is talking to me.

"This is..."

"It was your favorite toy. I used to bring it into the room and you would scream _'en-jun, en-jun!'_ and throw your little hands in the air! My chibi Jun-Jun..." He chuckles fondly. "I want you to have it."

I smile. "I have the perfect place for it." Picking up my wedding bouquet, I nestle the toy train between clusters of hydrangea. The train sticks out at an odd angle and the color clashes with the muted pastel purple and blue of the bouquet. At another time, in another place, it might have annoyed me, but right now, I just feel... At peace. At peace, even with chaos.

"We should go," I say, "It's almost time."

Harm's Way is almost unrecognizable: the street has been scrubbed clean - who knew it was that shade of grey under all the grime - and the trash - both the inanimate and human varieties - was cleared. Sketchy shopfronts have been papered over with gold taffeta pinned in place by lavish bouquets. All closed for the ceremony of course. It seemed like a lot of effort, but the symbolism of this place meant so much to Massimo.

My vote was for a tropical island thousands of miles away from this disgusting city. I suppose we all make sacrifices for the people we love.

A wedding tent billows in the middle of the street and at the mouth of it is a metal detector. When I step through it, it beeps unexpectedly - by which I mean completely expectedly. I sigh, coming to a stop. I hate these things. My gaze drifts to the bin full of confiscated weapons lying under the foldout table by the detector - then the second one - and a third. Massimo wanted to make sure neither of our families brought anything which would... _Compromise_ the event, so he installed the security checkpoint at the door.

Both yakuza and mafia guards manage it together to ensure oversight. They exchange awkward looks. "Jurei-san," One of the yakuza guards begins uncertainly. "Are you carrying any metal?" That's one way to put it.

"Why don't you come find out?" I dare. Nobody moves.

"Dai, dai what's all this, eh?" A young Italian man from Massimo's side of the family comes to my rescue. He has silvery hair tinted blueish-green in places which gives it the appearance of tarnished silverware. He wears an unpressed wool suit. The linen shirt inside is similarly rumpled and he seems to have lost his tie, substituting instead with lipstick stains stamped all over his chest. The man goes on, "That's the bride you're talking to!" The guards stand down with hastily muttered apologies. The Italian man is looking me up and down, groping me with his eyes, " _Cazzo_ , well if Massimo had to marry a Jap, at least he picked a spicy piece of tuna roll." He's checking out my ass. There is no polite way to respond to that, so I change the subject.

"And to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?" I ask coolly.

Those pale grey eyes come back up. "Oh yeah, s'pose I should introduce myself... I'm your new brother-in-law, after all..." Yuck. "Ruggine." He rolls on the R and gives the double G a luxurious rumble before angling off the E at the end. As if trying to impress me with his cultured name when his appearance has already precluded any illusion of culture. "But you can call me Ruggi, _figa_." He wipes his hand on the front of his suit before extending it to me. I take it in a limp grip; he tightens in a refusal to let me get away. My eyes are watering in the alcohol fumes wafting from his suit. I quickly lift a knuckle to dab at an eye before it smudges my eyeliner.  

"You must excuse my appearance," Ruggi says apologetically, "I came straight from the bachelor party."

"Massimo didn't have a bachelor party." Which seems to be news to the crumpled foil man.

"Veramente?" he exclaims, then tugs meaningfully on the front of his wrinkled shirt. "Then where was I last night?"

"Sounds like you had an evening to remember." My smile is tight, insincere.

"I'm about to have another one." He grins.

Music begins to play, filling the wedding tent to the burgeoning ceiling. "That's your cue," says Ruggi, "I look forward to getting to know you better, figa."

"Likewise." I pull a face which I hope is at least partially friendly. As soon as he turns his back, I hold up the hand I used to shake his. A yakuza guard squirts hand sanitizer into my palm. I was in such a rush to get away from my old family and all its baggage that I may have forgotten taking the D'Oro name will put me in association with a whole different set of undesirable characters...

   

Some people would be in awe of this sight: the highest echelons of the yakuza family on one side of the tent and the mafia on the other, and no bullets whizzing through the aisle between the two. Not me. I look at that runway to freedom down the middle and I am completely unfazed because I built it myself, brick by painstaking brick, cementing each one with a lie. So I deserve it when the whole room turns to look at me like a queen approaching the throne. I can't help but smirk when I notice the yakuza wedding party's designated seating is on the mafia side of Harm's Way and vice versa. Is this Massimo's ham-fisted attempt to speed up diplomacy? His heart is in the right place, but his execution is always so adorably clumsy.

Speaking of which, I see him standing at the altar and my heart swells with emotion. Massimo is stunning in a grey tuxedo and golden vest. I wonder if all this gold is fooling anyone about his heritage... Just kidding. Only I can do that. Massimo's lips part slightly when he lays eyes on me. Yes. He _is_ a lucky man.

Then I meet my father's eyes. He awaits me at the mouth of the aisle wearing a patterned suit covered in swirling golden clouds on a black background. The oni tattoos on his skull rise from the collar in a quiet revolt. He says nothing, not even when my hand slips from Jiji's to hold his.

So I speak first, in a whisper. "I am sorry." No reply. "I am sorry to have caused you to grieve a son."

"I am not stupid, Jurei," he says at last. "I see how the winds change. It is the mark of an Akira, to bring about change. You and even Keiichi have shown us that. I grieve for a son, yes... But today, I also champion another." I stare at him in disbelief. "As well as welcome a grandson," he says simply. Could he... Possibly be softening?

Otou-san faces forward again as the music plays our cue, hiding the hairline cracks in his stone features. "But wherever you choose to go, never forget: you carry the family honor with you. It can sometimes be a great blessing... But it is always a great responsibility." It's as though simply mentioning it makes it tangible: a weight on my shoulders. But it doesn't push me down, it reminds me of my own strength when I lift it effortlessly and glide down the aisle at my father's side. Mother and grandfather watch from the stands. And at the end of it all: the golden halcyon of Massimo's radiant presence. A smile finds its way on my face. _I've done it._ I have engineered the perfect ending.

A gunshot rips through the fabric of the code.

Eyes widening, I turn - too slowly somehow. Screams are already rising into the air as my father falls.

Then I fast-forward. "Otou-san! _Tou-san!_ " I shriek, throwing my arms forward to catch him. We go down together. Blood stains the clean white of my tuxedo. The screaming gets louder in the background; my mind edits it out as gore spills from the bullet hole in the side of my father's skull. Eyes stare forward at nothing like spheres of black glass. Wetness on my cheek; I lift a hand to touch the blood splatter on my face.

 _How?_ I lift my gaze over the panicking wedding party already scrambling from their seats to a hole in the ceiling of the tent - bullet-shaped and sized. Between the ragged edges of gossamer gold cloth, I see the round goggles and beaked mask of a sterling bishop.

"Bishops!" I yell at the top of my lungs. "Don't move! Don't _move!_ " No one is listening to me.

They do listen when more gunfire peppers the air over their heads, but this time it comes from an assault rifle. Everyone freezes.

"How _rude!_ " Massimo lowers his rifle as he laughs, shaking his head. "You filthy Japs are the ones always flapping your lips about manners. This ceremony isn't finished yet."

"Max..." My voice is shaking. "What is going on?"  

A voice behind me replies. "What's going on is that you are going to get on your feet. _Now._ " The hair on the back of my neck rises before I do because I know that voice.

Ecleesi. And I know instantly; it was her _._ The virus infecting, _corrupting_ all my designs. Fighting down the whimpers forming in my throat, I lay my father's head down on the ground. "I said _now!_ " A cattle prod strikes the floor beside me, spurring me quickly to my feet.

Then the two prongs push into my back. "Walk, _bitch_." They deliver a jolt. Sharp, tingling pain pierces my muscles like needles prodding them into forward momentum. I continue tiptoeing down the aisle while my family watches in horror.

Midway through the death march, Ecleesi darts around me, skipping down the aisle like a flower girl on short white heels. A summery yellow dress bounces around her knees, as bright as her rose-gold hair dancing at her shoulders. She spins around to wink at me.

"How about a smile, Jurei?" she teases, "It's your wedding day, after all..."

But I can't muster up a smile, or even a tear as I march toward that altar which has suddenly morphed into a gallows. I step up onto the platform and turn to face Massimo.

"What is this?" I say barely above a whisper. A ragged gasp escapes me as Massimo grabs both of my thin wrists, constricting them.

"I found my sister," he says through gritted teeth. "It wasn't easy, but once we brought her home, she did a few tests. And we found out what you did."

My veins flush cold. "You..."

"We sure did!" Ecleesi chirps. Her dress rustles as she swishes cheerfully from side to side. And all it took was a quick blood test. There were traces of aether blue in Massimo's bloodstream. Now how did that get there, I wonder?"

Massimo's eyes bore into mine as he answers the question. "You drugged me. You've been drugging me from the start, slipping things into my drinks so I would bend to your will..."

"Massimo-"

" _Don't-!_ " The volume makes me flinch. Massimo digs a hand into my hair. I see his golden pistol emerge from his pocket. He forces it between my teeth until my lips are wrapped around the barrel. Tears unroll on either side. "Don't talk to me. Today, you are not going to speak. You are going to listen and you are going to _watch_. And if you say one word..." He cocks the gun; my eyes squeeze shut instinctively.

"Sort them!" Massimo barks an order. The mafia guards begin to move through the aisles on the yakuza side of the tent. I see the motionless bodies of our own guards lying at the entrance to the wedding tent, floating in puddles of blood.

The mafia thugs sort through the guests at an astonishing pace, separating the higher-ranking men first before moving on to the yakuza wives. Tearing children from the arms of their mothers and forcing them apart. One boy - barely twelve - is almost sorted into the children group before one of the thugs changes his mind and shoves him in with the men at the last minute. The boy stumbles, disoriented to the front of the group in the corner of the tent. He turns around, peering through brown hair as the giant form of a bronze rook looms over them, glowering down through an alien gas mask. The boy lowers his wide-eyed gaze to the barrels of the minigun as they whirl into motion.

The sound of flak tears the air to shreds, drowning out even the screams of the men and the wailing of the women forced to witness it. A choked, involuntary noise escapes my throat. Massimo glances at me languidly. He waits until the horrible clink of the machine gun has come to a stop before delivering his next order, "Round up the women and children. They'll fetch a nice sum on the black market." At that, he grins at his family in the seats. "Christmas bonuses for everyone!" A few whoops and cheers in response.

Mafia thugs shepherd the women and children through a back entrance. Through the flaps, I see the gaping maw of an idling truck here to collect them. This was planned down to the last moment.

"You have no idea who you're dealing with!" My mother fights the two men escorting her. _Please don't-_ I plead with her in my mind. My heart sinks when I see Alcine swagger toward the lineup.

"And who would that be - the rainbow ladies?" she asks with an unpleasant smile. Mother stops struggling to glare at the taller woman. Alcine jerks on Mother's ponytail. "But you aren't one anymore, are you? You're just an ownerless, nameless, _worthless_ woman. What a shame." She winds a length of Mother's hair around her finger. "You know Mirai, of all the colors of the rainbow... You were always my favorite. Maybe if you behave yourself, I'll let you come live with me as a handmaid."  

"I'd rather die than take orders from a bitch..." Mother snarls at her.

"I can make that happen." The defiance in her eyes wavers when Alcine brandishes a knife. "You were really onto something with the knives," Alcine simpers. "So much more satisfying."

Mother's back hits the floor and Alcine sits on her middle, holding her head down as she aims at Kaa-san's face. The weapon plunges out of my field of vision but my mother's screams lodge themselves like knives in my chest. Her legs kick out erratically from underneath her tormentor. The knife rises and falls, bloodier each time.

Himawari, who has a clearer view than I from the other side is shrieking. "Mirai! _Mirai!_ " she sobs. I can't watch anymore so I stare at the flat golden sheen of the pistol in my mouth. Because that was a better option, apparently. I trace the length to the large but stubby fingers of my lover wrapped around the handle. A finger on the trigger.

"Nonno, it's time," says Massimo and I don't know what he's talking about at first until I trace his gaze to Socca standing next to my grandfather, holding his hand tightly. They look from side to side, drawing closer together as the mafia thugs close in. My heart pounds in my chest.

"No!" Socca yells. "No punk gang banger is going to take my Tatsuo away!" The men back up again when he lifts his shotgun cane and swings it in a wild circle. A flicker of hope lights in my chest. Then Socca says, "If he's going to go, it will be at my hands." No... _No..._ My whimpering grows louder as Socca pushes the mouth of the cane into Jiji's chest. He holds Jiji's head to his chest; the old mafia patriarch's potato head is wrinkled in agony as he steels himself for the task. Jiji strokes his back comfortingly.

"It's okay," he says softly, "It's okay, Socca. We know how it is. We know this life; we knew what we were getting into. Do what you have to do."

"Ti amo, Tatsuo... _Ti amo._ "

"Aishiteru yo, Socca. Perhaps in another life." He squeezes his lover's wrist comfortingly. _Encouragingly._

And Socca squeezes the trigger.

_Why? Why like this?_

If I am a robot, and robots have no feelings, then why do I feel as though my own chest was broken into and hollowed out handful by agonizing handful. Scooping out circuitry, medium, moving parts and wires, and dumping it all in a pile at Massimo's feet. I look up into the frigid gold of his eyes, barely able to see through the wetness in my own. _I have nothing left_ . _I have nothing left to give you._

"Massimo D'Oro, do you take Jurei Akira as your lawful husband, to have and to hold," I turn fractionally to include the priest in the corner of my vision, glaring at him for having the audacity to remind me, that yes, there is one thing. "From this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish until death do you part?"

Massimo's smile widens into a 24-karat grin. "I _do._ " He says with his gun in my mouth.

The priest continues, and he sounds so ridiculous. Nonsensical - what kind of priest would officiate a wedding like _this?_ "Do you, Jurei Akira, take Massimo D'Oro as your lawful husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish until death do you part?"

Only then does Massimo remove the pistol. Stray, sweaty strands of violet hair and the thread of saliva that still joins my lips to the pistol quiver on my slow, hot breaths. I can feel running eyeliner and mascara drying like ink stains on my face as the seconds stretch.

I say, "Mafia _dog_."

The butt of the pistol strikes me across the face. I stumble from the blow and straighten up to face the gun pointed at my head.

"Kill me." The gun trembles. " _Kill me._ " The mouth is pushed into my forehead. It's wet.

Massimo's face cracks into a horrified smile. "Is it real?"

My lips are pressed together in a line.

"How do I know if these feelings I feel for you are real - or just the drugs talking?" he whispers, wide-eyed.

"You can't," I deadpan. He seizes me by the collar.

"Then you and I are going to find out _together,_ " he hisses, "And if you don't survive it..."

"Then I'll get what I asked for."

"Ecleesi!" Massimo says sharply.

Ecleesi pops up with the rings on a satin serviette. "Sorry." She shrugs. "Someone bled all over the little pillow thing."

"It fits the theme," I say.

When Massimo picks up the ring, I see it's been modified: turned on its side and joined with white leather straps into the shape of a slave choker. He reaches around and clasps the choker in place. Tight leather bites into my skin like a cuff that I can't slip. The sight of his work makes him smile; Massimo abruptly scoops me up and swings me around and for a moment - a very brief moment - I feel the way I was supposed to feel today. He stops to press his lips firmly against mine while I lock up at the joints then breaks off with a sticky noise, panting through a wide grin.

"Vengeance is ours!" he announces, bouncing me in his arms. "E finito! Finito en _vittoria!_ " he roars at the jubilant crowd of his clan. They hurl their hats into the air and clap each other on the backs; the tent is filled with the sound of celebration.

Do they not see? Can they not _see_ the tent ceiling, once a dreamscape of billowing golden gossamer, haunted now as it blows like a ragged flag peppered with bullet holes. Do they dare to look in the corner of the tent drenched in blood and pale body parts. Or the soles of purple silk heels against the floor. The gore soaking a navy blue wheelchair.

Massimo is carrying me away from the tent full of horrors to his golden motorcycle out back, made tackier with cans tied to the back and a 'Just Married' banner. Planting me up front by the handlebars like a precious trophy, he climbs on behind and leans into the machine. I feel his lips touch the back of my head before he whispers,

"Welcome to la famiglia."

A tiny smile bleeds from my lips.

"You have no idea who you've invited."

 

###END###

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> E finito! Thanks so much for joining me on this adventure and I would love to hear what you thought of the story. I will still be replying to comments/questions as usual (guest comments are okay). Your feedback helps me become a better writer, helps others find this story and obviously, MAKES MY DAY!
> 
> Dying for a sequel? Let me know! It really does help me prioritize.
> 
> Want more from me in the meantime? You can follow Jurei over to my main series [The Human Rayce.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14040666/chapters/32340450)
> 
> Or join Flaere on his adventure as his story: [What Happens on Harm's Way](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14080236/chapters/32439774) gets picked up in December! 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading and happy holidays!
> 
> -KassiopeiaX


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